


Expand Thy Wings

by SylviaW1991



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Additional Characters to be added, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alpha Anathema Device, Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consent is Sexy, Footnotes, Ineffable Tutors (Good Omens), Light Bondage, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Omega Newton Pulsifer, Romance Through The Ages, Soft and in love, Top Crowley (Good Omens), they're just super soft okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley really just wanted to touch base with everyone they'd met at the American airbase. Humans literally seeing Satan was normally quite a negative thing. Not to mention potential PTSD and other mental afflictions. Much better that the angel and demon involved - not Gabriel and Beezlebub, but the other two - meet up with everyone and have a cosy chat about mental states.What they are not expecting is news that Aziraphale is pregnant.How did they get there, though? And how do they handle pregnancy when their only knowledge of it is theoretical? Heaven and Hell won't help them find answers, but perhaps their adopted middle-ground will.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 175





	1. Sesame Seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bomb is dropped. Not by a demon onto a church, but by an Antichrist onto an angel and a demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, amycoolz and my cheerleader [SkimmingTheSurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface)! You’ve both been instrumental in getting this fic off the ground, and I hope everyone enjoys it half as much as you two are.
> 
> Title comes from "Expand Thy wings, celestial Dove, brood o'er our nature's night on our disordered spirits move, and let there now be light." - Charles Wesley

_Whether your pregnancy was meticulously planned,_

_medically coaxed,_

_or happened by surprise,_

_one thing is certain—_

_your life will never be the same._

— Catherine Jones

* * *

**Current Day - Driving, London Outskirts**

They convinced themselves that everything was fine. Armageddon had successfully been averted, punishment from Heaven and Hell had been derailed, and they could be together. _Together_ -together. Not that they hadn't been that way since the 1600s, but now it could be in _public_. There was no stronger thrill than their hands meeting as they strolled through the park, right in front of anyone who might look. 

Well, there _was_ , but those thrills were still quite private. 

Aziraphale looked over to his right, fondness bubbling through him even though one foot was pressed firmly against the floor as if the brake pedal was on his side of the Bentley. It was normal, something he'd gotten used to in the years since he'd first sat in this car. 1941, he recalled, the streets dark but for the moon overhead and the occasional pan of searchlights common during the Blitz. It had been a tense time for them, neither sure of their standing after a bitter argument and an eighty year separation. 

Fascinating how things could change so much a mere eighty years later. 

Gosh, had it really been one hundred sixty years since that fight over holy water? Something that had seemed so big at the time and again in 1967 had been instrumental in keeping Crowley alive.

“You know, I wonder how things would've been had I trusted you.”

Crowley's own thought process, firmly rooted in that day's plans and not traveling back in time, halted. He blinked behind dark lenses and looked over in confusion. “You have trusted me. For centuries.”

“Millennia,” Aziraphale corrected, sorry that he had to. It was something they were both having to get used to, but the Mark on his neck throbbed under his collar and the one very plainly visible on Crowley’s neck had yet to scar over. Things were still new. It had barely been two months since the world had failed to end. “I specifically meant your request for holy water.”

Crowley grit his teeth, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “That was two hundred years ago, angel. It was a pretty abrupt thing to ask you.”

“You'd just spent a heat with me and were about to go into rut alone. Two months without you doing a single temptation or filling a single report. I think, with two hundred years of hindsight, I can see why you might have wanted some insurance. And you did tell me it wasn't...”

“A suicide pill,” Crowley remembered, a little bitter about it still. Not what he'd expected to come into the conversation on the way to Tadfield. 

“Yes. We've never talked about it.”

“Didn't see a need.”

Aziraphale scoffed at him, reaching over to pat his thigh. “You didn't want to upset me again.”

“Shut up,” he protested. Of course he hadn't. “You're the one who came into my car with a thermos of it in the 1960s. Not much chatting there either.”

“I was _upset_. It didn't seem like the appropriate time for a chinwag, dearest, particularly with said thermos between us.” Aziraphale left his hand on Crowley’s thigh, knowing it was welcome. “Now let me apologize for not trusting you in 1862 in peace, you wily old serpent.”

“Oh, is that what this is? An apology?” 

Aziraphale swatted him, relieved to hear him laugh. “I would've done so the night we, ah, came up with our plan, but things were a bit... strung out.”

Crowley tipped his head in acknowledgement. Aziraphale had cleaned up the pool of destroyed demon without complaint, understanding immediately why Crowley had rubbed a hand over his face and looked so suddenly exhausted in the elevator. He'd killed that night and that, from what they could tell, had not been undone by Adam's restoration of the world. He'd murdered a fellow alpha, a fellow demon, and Aziraphale had supplied the murder weapon. 

Of course things had been strung out, the pair of them too tired to do much more than fall into Crowley's bed and talk and, in Crowley's case, doze. 

Everything had worked out rather well, though. Marked and swapped and everything right as rain by next day's lunch. They'd freely fallen into bed the next week for their first joint cycle together and now, a week after a lovely month together, it was back to Tadfield for explanations, check-ins, and surveillance. Crowley called it touching base and hadn't explained when Aziraphale had questioned the idiom. 

“So, again, I wonder if things would've been different had I trusted you. I wonder if things... after would've been easier for us. I'm very sorry, Crowley, that I've coloured the last hundred and sixty-odd years with that ugliness. I'm sorry I haven't allowed myself to be more open in my affections towards you and-” 

“Stop. I'll accept the apology for the holy water thing.” His hand fell to Aziraphale’s, catching it before it could retreat. “The rest kept you safe. It kept both of us safe, so don't apologize for that. You were worth the wait. Silly, overprotective omega.”

“Oh, please. Foolish, overprotective _alpha_. Running off to the stars, indeed.”

That talk was already behind them, so Crowley lifted Aziraphale's palm to his lips. “We'll visit one day.”

“One day,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile, settling back and leaving his hand in Crowley's. His foot resumed its insistent press against the floor in the vain hope it would slow the car down as they crossed the very normal, not-at-all-on-fire M25. 

\----

**Current Day - Tadfield, Oxfordshire**

Anathema closed the door in their faces. Newt opened it again seconds later, smile apologetic and nervous. “Sorry about that. Still, er, getting used to some things. You were at the airbase.”

“We were. How terrifying it must be that you remember us.” Aziraphale beamed, radiating warmth and welcoming omega pheromones as if he was letting Newt into his home and not the other way around. “May we come in?”

The alpha presence wasn’t too terrifying with all the calm goodness radiating from the omega. It spoke to his own instincts, so Newt opened the door a little wider. “Uh. Yes.”

An angel and a demon crossed the threshold of Jasmine Cottage, the blessed horseshoe over the door already turned on its side by the former so the latter wouldn’t have any problems. There was a very distant feeling in the base of his spine, a little pinprick of discomfort, but it was tolerable. They weren’t planning on staying long, as Aziraphale cheerfully announced.

“We’re just here to - what was it, Crowley? Touch base, yes. The Armageddon-”

“Armageddon’t,” Crowley muttered.

“-situation was rather stressful on everyone. We understand and wanted to make sure that everyone involved was feeling tickety-boo.”

“Or just not foaming at the mouth,” Crowley added with a small sneer. Aziraphale elbowed him, but didn’t comment otherwise.

“No foaming or anything like that here. We’ve been getting on pretty well, I think.”

Anathema folded her arms, and Crowley’s gaze shifted to her. There was a moment, a crackling through the air that threatened some alpha posturing. Crowley was too aware of the fact that he’d entered an alpha’s home, Newt still searching for his place amongst all of her clutter. Anathema was too aware of the fact that an alpha had just entered her home when she didn’t particularly _want_ either of them there, and he was standing a little too close to Newt.

“That’s enough of that,” Aziraphale said with calm certainty. “Crowley, you stop puffing your chest this instant. You’re not at all subtle, and there’s hardly a threat here. They’re bonded, for Her sake.”

“I’m not _puffing_ -”

“You weren’t bonded,” Anathema mused, eyes narrowing, “when your car hit me-”

“You hit _me_.”

“-or when we were at the airbase. You are now?”

Aziraphale preened a bit, rocking onto the balls of his feet and glancing over at Crowley to see the Bonding Mark. “Oh, yes. Properly bonded, even though he is being rather insufferable. We aren’t used to being in close proximity to others who don’t want to kill us, I’m afraid, and he’s overprotective.”

Crowley visibly recoiled in offense, but his protestations came out as wordless noises that only made Aziraphale smile at him until he huffed and pushed his hands into his pockets. “S’not _over_ protective. It’s the right amount of protective.”

“Of course, dearest.”

“What _are_ you?” Anathema demanded, floodgates opening when it became clear that this alpha wasn't going to be attacking so long as the omega took point. “You said you were on apple tree duty? What was that about?”

Crowley sighed, shifting his weight to one foot and waving a hand dramatically. “Don’t get him started. That’s a six thousand year old story and we’re not staying.”

“Uh-huh. Do you want lemonade?”

“Is it the American sort?”

Anathema’s nose wrinkled as she thought of British lemonade. “Yeah.”

“I would _love_ a glass,” Aziraphale gushed, joining her in the kitchen and forcing Crowley to follow. He dropped into a chair next to Aziraphale, all sprawled limbs beside his straight-backed perch. “I don’t think I’ve had American lemonade since 1969. I went to, ah, Florida to bless the space launch.”

“To bless it?” Newt wondered, setting a tray of biscuits down on the small table. He took a seat across from them while Anathema poured four glasses of lemonade. One unpoured itself, the glass emptying as soon as she'd filled it and the pitcher filling an equal amount. She blinked. 

“Yes. I suppose some bluntness in this situation couldn't hurt. Normally, it isn't at all wise to appear before humans and announce ourselves, but I believe this could be an exception. If Satan himself didn't cause you to lose your minds, this shouldn't. Oh, thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale reached for the glass Anathema offered him with a bright smile, but Crowley intercepted it and handed it to the omega himself. Aziraphale tutted fondly at him. “I am an angel.”

Newt's brow furrowed. “Um. Sorry?” 

“An angel, dear boy, of the Lord.”

Anathema gave Newt a glass, sitting down with the third, and reached for a cookie. She'd made them, so they were soft in the American way and it was very hard to believe that the omega who bit into and hummed happily around one was an angel. “What does that make you?” she asked of Crowley, who didn't reach for a cookie. 

“A demon,” he answered casually, Newt choking on a sip of lemonade. It made Crowley smile, but Aziraphale shook his head. 

“You did that on purpose, you wily thing. At least let the boy drink first.”

“Wait.” Anathema broke a cookie in half, the melted chocolate pieces stringing a bit before she handed half to Newt. “At the airbase, you said you were on apple tree duty and he was a serpent. Does that mean...”

“Eden, yes.” Aziraphale miracled himself a napkin since one didn't seem to be readily available, dabbing at the chocolate on his lips before his alpha got any _ideas_. He could already feel his stare. “Clever deductions, dear girl.”

“That... What?” 

Aziraphale’s smile softened and he leaned forward to gently pat her hand under Crowley’s watchful gaze. “Crowley and I have been on Earth for all six thousand years of its existence, and we decided - despite Heaven and Hell's wishes to settle an equally old dispute - that we would rather the world not end. It's that simple.”

Anathema leaned back in her chair, staring at them both. Of course she believed in Heaven and Hell and all that. She even believed that Aziraphale was telling the truth. After all, she'd spent her entire life following an ancient book of prophecies which culminated in the finding of the Antichrist and the hopeful aversion of the Apocalypse. It would be more insane for her to _not_ believe, but that didn't exactly make it _simple_ either. “Holy shit.”

“Oh. Well.”

Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled at that, but Crowley cackled. “I wouldn't call that a _wrong_ reaction,” he decided. “He's leaving plenty out, obviously, but no part of humanity is fully prepared for all that.”

Newt nodded. “I suppose that's fair.”

“You do?” Anathema demanded. 

He smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If I'd spent six thousand years making a home with you on Earth, I wouldn't want it to end either. Especially if we were on opposing sides of the war.”

“We were on opposite sides, witch finder,” she teased. 

He coloured, but his smile didn't fade. “Witch found.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale cooed, laying a hand over his heart and garnering both of their attentions. 

“Don't mind him,” Crowley said, waving a hand again. “He can sense love. It's an angel thing.”

Newt's colour deepened. “Oh,” he squeaked. 

“Okay. Anyway, you said you wanted to touch base with us? Just because we were there? Have you checked in with Tracy and Shadwell too?” 

Aziraphale had yet to divulge Shadwell’s involvement in his discorporation, so bit back the urge to squirm. “We haven't yet, no. We thought it prudent to come here first. We'd like to see how Adam and his friends are faring. Children are highly impressionable, after all, and those four were involved in averting an Apocalypse. Additionally, one of them was nearly responsible for its origin. We just... weren't so sure Arthur would want to see us. We did all leave the airbase in a bit of a state, after all, so we were hoping you would be able to contact Adam for us.”

Newt and Anathema exchanged looks, a silent conversation of furrowed brows and half-smiles. 

For Anathema, it meant, “I don't want to tell them.”

For Newt it was, “You may as well tell them.”

A sudden pounding at the door signaled just who would win that argument. Anathema sighed and rose, and Newt's half-smile shifted to the opposite couple. “Anathema baked biscuits this morning because the Them were coming around today anyway. And it sounds like they're here.”

“The Them?” Aziraphale echoed, politely puzzled. 

“It's what our gang is called,” Adam announced, him and his three friends rolling into the kitchen. “Way better than the Johnsonites. They're our rival gang, see, and our name's much more original.”

“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale smiled despite the suspicion settling in four gazes. “Hello, children.”

“You were at the airbase,” Pepper realized. “You tried to kill Adam.”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered, fingers fidgeting with his napkin until Crowley's hand covered them. “Complicated reasoning,” he replied blithely. 

The angel sighed. “Oh, my dear, don't take that tone with Them. The young lady is quite right.”

“We were _desperate_ , angel. We didn't know what the boy was going to do.”

“We didn't, but it's a very good thing Tracy stopped me.”

“You let her,” Adam pointed out and Aziraphale's shoulders stiffened. “You didn't want to do it, so you stopped controlling the arms.”

“Ah...” Aziraphale very carefully didn't look at Crowley. “I suppose... that's one way of looking at it.”

“I knew you didn't have it in you,” Crowley muttered. 

Now Aziraphale looked at him, glaring. “And I suppose you did?” 

Crowley only smiled, turning back to the kids when Brian asked, “Why're you back? Adam said you'd probably just come 'round to save the world and then we'd never see you again.”

Anathema poured four lemonades, none of these cups emptying themselves, and passed them and a cookie each to the kids. Brian got a plastic cup and a napkin. “They say they wanted to check in.”

“How come you haven't done it sooner?” Pepper demanded. “ _School_ started and everything already.” As if they were personally responsible for such an injustice.[1]

“We've been busy,” Crowley replied, nonplussed by the demands for explanation. They didn't generally answer to humans, their connections to them few and far between. 

Adam’s young face scrunched when he looked at Aziraphale, confusion pinching his brow. Crowley’s eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. Former Antichrist or not, no one was going to look at his omega like-

“Oh, I think I see where you’ve been. You wanted to start growing a baby?” Adam asked, in the way of any other eleven year old who didn’t actually yet understand reproduction.

Aziraphale’s glass slipped out of his fingers, neither him nor Crowley reacting when Anathema sprung into action with a towel and reassurances that fell on deaf ears.

“Well?” Adam insisted.

“I... What was that?” Aziraphale breathed, quite certain there was a misunderstanding somewhere.

“At first I thought you were two people again, but it’s not _really_ a whole person yet. It’s just growing there in your belly, so it must be a baby.” Understanding dawned a bit when he looked at Crowley’s slack-jawed expression and Aziraphale’s wide eyes. “Oh. Is it an accident?”

“I was an accident,” Brian chimed in helpfully. “Mum says so all the time.”

“I wasn’t.” Pepper’s chin lifted. “I was a happy surprise.”

To the surprise of no one, Wensleydale said, “I was planned, actually.”

Aziraphale knew he needed to say something, anything, about children being blessings or some such, but he was having a terrible time trying to recall how words functioned. He looked at Crowley, saw his own shocked expression in the dark lenses, and burst into tears. 

“Fuck,” Crowley blurted, overwhelmed by a hard burst of distressed omega. He scooped him up and quickly carried him out to the Bentley, pushing him into the backseat and climbing in after to gather him close and hold tight in a space that smelled only of them. Mostly of him. 

He tossed his sunglasses to the front seat when Aziraphale reached for and hesitated over touching them. He normally didn't hesitate when they were alone, permission long since given, but it showed just how lost in instinct he was. His angelic omega was usually far less prone to tears. But this was new and, from what Crowley had seen of pregnancy over thousands of years, tears were sort of a _thing_.

Oh, Someone, how was he supposed to handle this? How were either of them supposed to handle this? He may not have been _quite_ as set in his ways as Aziraphale, but they had routines and habits that were thousands of years old and now they were going to add a baby into the mix. Fuck, _fuck_ , a _baby_. A whole entire baby. 

Oh, Someone, his omega was _pregnant_. 

“Don't panic,” Aziraphale instructed, wiping at his tears as the sudden tide ebbed. Seeing his eyes, being wrapped up in the familiar scent of his car, helped enormously. “You'll set me off again.”

“I'm not panicking,” he denied, very much panicking. His hand fell to Aziraphale's stomach, already round and soft, and only going to get rounder. “You don't sssmell any different yet.”

“I don't _feel_ any different, but to have it noticed... Crowley...” Aziraphale laid his hand over his, amazed. They'd discussed the possibility, of course. Joint cycles and Bond Marks usually had one conclusion, barring medical conditions or mutual choice against. They'd mutually concluded that it was unlikely, that whatever was to happen would. “Gosh.”

“Yup.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, smiled at the dazed look coating his golden gaze. “You got me pregnant.”

“Oi, don't say it like it's an accusation.” He could hardly breathe as it were. The word alone was enough to make his mind reel. 

“Fine, you silly serpent.” Aziraphale lifted his chin. “My alpha got me pregnant.”

“That's worse,” he decided, tucking his nose into Aziraphale's hair and breathing deep to try finding any hint of a change in his scent. “Sounds like _I'm_ not involved.”

“You don't get to be picky about my word choice, and it's very clear, I think, who my alpha is. Now stop sniffing at me like a Hellhound. You know I won't change until at least a month.” A good alpha's nose was as telling as a blood test, and Aziraphale had been ready for that. A full month after cycling, they would've had an answer. “I must be two or three weeks? I think even one would be too soon for Adam to notice.”

“Mm. I'd wager three weeks.”

“Why?”

Crowley grinned. “That's when you used your wings to-” 

“ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale swatted at him, then straightened in his lap, pulling at his bowtie. “That's enough of that. Honestly, I-” He broke off when he noticed movement nearby, jolting in place. Crowley's arms immediately wrapped around him, his scent surrounding him in a protective claim. “Stop, stop that. It's only Newton.”

Aziraphale wiggled out of his lap and right out of the car, straightening his waistcoat and bowtie and hoping he didn't look as though he'd been crying. “Hello,” he greeted. “I'm terribly sorry about that. It was... quite a shock.”

“No, it's-” Newt cleared his throat, shrug slight. “It's okay. Anathema wanted me to make sure you were okay? Thought an omega scent might be a little more... welcome than an alpha one.”

“Oh, yes, most definitely. It's-” He paused briefly when familiar arms banded about his waist and pulled him back. He ultimately decided it wasn't worth an argument or hurting his ridiculous alpha's feelings, so let him cling. They'd only just found out he was carrying, after all. Once his scent changed, it would likely be worse. “It's fine. We weren't entirely sure if we would be, ah, compatible enough to create a child. An angel and a demon. It's never been done.” He shook his head, not fighting when Crowley pressed him closer. “We'll go back inside and finish our chat. I don't want the children to think they've done something wrong.”

“I don't think they do? Anathema told them you were an angel, and Adam... Well, he said he knew.”

“He bloody well should.” Crowley huffed, clearly not wanting to go back in but following the angel like the embarrassingly lovesick thing he was. 

They were surrounded by four eleven-year-olds in short order, a fresh glass of lemonade getting pressed into Aziraphale's hand as he was ushered back into a chair with the sorts of questions and concerns only children could have or come up with.[2] Plus a few more only this _particular_ group of children would ask.[3]

It took a demon's growl for them to scatter, but only to a marginally respectable distance. Crowley sat and dragged Aziraphale's chair closer, and it was difficult not to preen a bit under the sweet attention. “That's enough, you silly alpha. They mean well.”

“I don't-” 

“That was a lot of questions, my dears, and I'm afraid some of the answers are best left to your parents or library books. As for the rest, well... I feel quite fine, and we frankly don't know what to expect. There's never been a baby like this before.”

Anathema cocked her head to the side. “Do, say, angels and angels have babies?” 

“Oh, no. There are, ah, suppressants for that sort of thing. It would be far too distracting, you see. Even having a mate is, ah, frowned upon. We're taught to be better than our instincts.”

“What about in, uh...”

Crowley arched his brows and that conversation thread was promptly dropped. Aziraphale didn't even know what the answer may have been and he was just fine with not knowing. _His_ alpha would be far from Hellish to their offspring, and that's all that mattered.

Gosh. _Their_ offspring. 

“So this is completely new on all fronts. Do you guys even, y'know, have _experience_ with babies?” 

“My dear girl, we have been on Earth for six thousand years. Of _course_ we have experience with babies. Cain and Abel, for example.”

“Didn't turn out well,” Crowley reminded him in a low mumble. 

“Ah. Right. Er. Moses, then.”

“All you did was encourage his mother to put him in a basket.”

“I also guided the waves, if you recall.”

That would be like Crowley claiming taking Adam to the convent counted, something he was pretty sure wouldn't be welcome information and _definitely_ knew didn't count. He'd barely looked at him. “Well, what the Heaven does that have to do with _raising_ a baby?” 

“Nothing,” he snipped. “It's an _experience_ with a baby. Obviously.”

“'Obviously,'” Crowley mimicked, earning a silent glare. Sunglasses still in the Bentley, he glared back. 

“Then experience raising a baby,” Anathema clarified. 

Crowley leaned closer to Aziraphale as calmly as if they hadn't bickered for even one moment. “Warlock count?” he wondered quietly. 

“I believe so. On your part, perhaps, though not really my own. Harriet didn't really like him being outside very often in the beginning and, well, there was little for me to do. Afterward, we weren't really... Well, it was more like... _influencing_.” Aziraphale frowned, brow furrowing, but Crowley couldn't argue. It hadn't been raising so much as shaping him into something that would hopefully fail to end the world. Hm. “Well. I suppose we _don't_ have much experience in the ways of, ah, child rearing,” Aziraphale decided.

“None of our parents did before us,” Wensleydale pointed out. “And they're actually doing a good job.”

“Right,” Brian agreed. “No matter what Mr. Tyler says about us.”

“ _My_ mum says that being married to my dad was like raising a child,” Pepper said, all haughty confidence. “So she'd had some practice.”

Aziraphale smiled to himself, laying his hands on his thighs. “If that's the case, I've had practice with Crowley.”

“Oi!”

“What about the pregnancy itself?” Newt wondered. “Do you know what to... Y'know, schools and parents teach us how to, ah, er. What it's supposed to be like. Especially when we're, ah, y'know... male.” He squinted as if not at all sure if he should ask this next question. “Are you, um, male?” 

“Typically. Crowley’s the one who changes willy-nilly.” He wiggled with the words, all fondness for his partner's revolving gender. “You've taken these lessons, Newton?” 

“Kinda... Kinda required? Have to know our place and all.”

Several eyes rolled, Pepper’s included. Aziraphale briefly pressed his lips together, then blew out a slow breath. “Yes, well, sometimes rarity is mistaken for just that - a mistake. Or a weakness. It would be best to remember that it's a gift.” Aziraphale nodded firmly, pleased when Crowley's hand briefly covered his own. “Now I think it's best to not go into a pregnancy with any knowledge on how it _usually_ works. It could just ruin everything. But thank you for your concern, dear boy. 

“In any case, mine and Crowley's lives aren't what we came to discuss. We wish to know how all of _you_ are.” He took a biscuit off the tray with a smile. “We're here to help.”

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

1. Neither angel nor demon actually remembered which of them was responsible for modern classrooms, but there was ultimately quite a bit of Heaven and Hell entangled in them so it could be written off like so many things as a joint effort.↩

2. “Anathema said eating healthy is important for babies, and lemonade's got fruit in it.” “How come your alpha didn't know you were pregnant?” “Does being pregnant hurt?” “How come you didn't know you were pregnant?” “On the bus, there's always seats for pregnant people so you should sit, right?” “Where exactly do babies come from, anyway?”↩

3. “How do angels get pregnant?” “Is it a magic baby?” “Adam said your alpha's a demon. Is the baby a demon or an angel?” “Does it take a long time when you're magic or less?” “Will this baby happen the same as a not-angel-or-demon baby?”↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planning on weekly updates for this one :D Leave some kudos and drop me a comment!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/) and my lovely beta at [americapt](https://montgomery.co.vu/).


	2. What Was She Thinking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet, they argue, they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, amycoolz and my cheerleader [SkimmingTheSurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface)! You’ve both been instrumental in getting this fic off the ground, and I hope everyone enjoys it half as much as you two are.
> 
> Going back in time for this chapter :D

**4004 B.C. - Eden**

Aziraphale was not of the belief that the Almighty made mistakes. No angel was. That was a demon's job, doubt and hatred and... and all that. Yes. Dark, wicked, cruel beings - that’s what the Fallen were. Clearly. And Aziraphale was not Fallen, no. He was a very good angel who did not believe that the Almighty made mistakes.

He was also an omega without a flaming sword who had, well, _helped_ the humans through what had not actually been a gate. He flicked his nervous gaze upwards every few seconds, hands wringing together. He was an omega who had lied directly to God Herself about the whereabouts of said flaming sword, who had hidden the hole in the not-gate, and... and...

Oh, the Almighty did not make mistakes, no, but what in all the Heavens and the Earth had She been _thinking_? Perhaps Gabriel was right. An omega guarding Eden. Laughable. He was weak and careless and-

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale’s gaze shot to his left, watching the Serpent of Eden shift and transform into something far more human in shape. His black wings glistened like an oil slick,[4] catching the light in a surprising way. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’”

“Yes. _Yes_.” Aziraphale looked out at the desert, trying not to think too hard on this. It wasn’t their first time talking, but it was his first time talking to a... not-snake. He hadn’t been able to smell the alpha on him as a snake, for a start. Alpha, woodsmoke, and... fermented fruit of some sort. He’d expected a demon to smell, well, _bad_. Oh, dear. “It did, rather.”

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything, y’know...” The demon shook his head a little, unable to help but sneak glances at the angel. While still very much wearing the golden, slitted-pupil eyes he’d had in his snake form, his other senses were much different. He’d expected Heaven to send an alpha or, at the very least, a beta to guard Eden. Every inhale was omega. Omega and... vanilla? Soft and subtle, the sort of scent that demanded getting close enough to get a proper whiff. The demon stayed right where he was. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.”

“Well, it must _be_ bad...” Aziraphale trailed off, looking at him questioningly.

“Crawly,” he said quickly.

“Crawly.” Aziraphale bobbed his head. “Otherwise, _you_ wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” 

“Ah, they just said get up there and make some trouble.”

“Well, obviously, you’re a demon. It’s what you do.”

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a 'don’t touch' sign. Why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” he suggested, and Aziraphale glanced skyward. “Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.”

“Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand.” He chanced another look at the demon, sure the words were supposed to be tempting. Well. He may have been an omega with no weapon, but he was _not_ going to let some alpha demon go about tempting him. “It’s ineffable.”

“The Great Plan’s _ineffable_?”

“Exactly. It's-” 

“That why they sent an _omega_?” 

Aziraphale stiffened. “I- Well, that is to say, I...”

“Not really built for fighting, omegas. I seem to recall they stayed far off from the war.”

“I wouldn't know anything about the war, but I was very thoroughly trained, thank you.”

“You don't know about the fighting,” he replied, a brow winging up. “How far away were _you_ hiding?” 

“I didn't exist yet,” Aziraphale testily replied. “As a matter of fact, I came into being just before the garden did. So I was told, well, that I would be watching over the humans.”

“That's all you were told to do?” 

“By Her, yes. It was, ah, the other angels who told me... about the rest. About how wicked demons are, you understand, and how I'm not to...”

Crawly’s gaze drifted down to his hip, attention shifting as he tuned Aziraphale out. He didn't need the Heavenly propaganda recited to him. He knew better. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” he asked abruptly. Curiosity had always been his downfall.[5]

“Uh.”

“You _did_. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale let out a long, stuttery sort of sound, and Crawly’s expression shifted. What a shit liar, he decided smugly. Just like an omega. Heaven really hadn’t planned this well, had they? “Lost it already, have you?”

He looked down. “Gave it away,” he mumbled.

Everything in Crawly froze, suspended in an unfamiliar haze. He hadn’t been so surprised in... Well, ever. The Fall had been foreseeable to a _point_ , at least to him. He’d expected some sort of punishment for disobedience and questions when they’d been taught so strongly to blindly obey. Blindly obey yet train to fight. Something had been expected, but this? An angel - an _omega_ \- giving away a holy weapon to disobedient humans. It made his eyes widen. “You _wot_?”

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale looked at Crawly then, eyes just as wide but fearful. “There are vicious animals! It’s going to be _cold_ out there, and she’s expecting already! And I said, ‘Here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’” He looked back out to the desert, searching for the two humans dotting the landscape, and his frantic tone softened. “I do hope I didn’t do the _wrong_ thing.”

“Oh, you’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” They constantly did the wrong things, in Crawly’s opinion.

But Aziraphale didn’t notice the sarcasm. “Oh- _oh_! Oh, thank- Oh, thank you. Oh. It’s been bothering me.”

In the distance, Adam started swinging his newly acquired sword in defense against an approaching lion while Eve laid protective hands over her swollen stomach and backed away.

Watching them, Crawly shoved off instinct and admitted, “Yeah, I’ve been worrying too. What if I did the right thing with the whole eat the apple business? Demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” Adam killed the lion as they watched, both angel and demon wondering if he really was a beta after all. Him and his lady would’ve probably been better off as alphas. “Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?” Crawly laughed a little, just to himself, and Aziraphale answered, distracted.

When he realized what he was laughing about, he abruptly stopped and swung his gaze around. “No! Wouldn’t be funny at all!”

Crawly’s head tilted in acceptance of this. “Well...”

Thunder rumbled overhead and Crawly winced, the rain beginning just after. He started to suggest that the angel get down off the wall and find himself some shelter, about to shift back into a snake and do the same, but a pristine white wing swung up and covered him. Crawly’s throat clogged as he looked up at it. As he looked at and stepped closer to the angel in shock.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together, slanting him a pink-cheeked look in return. The rain didn’t touch him. “Are you, er, alright?”

He nodded, a little stupid in his stun. “You-” It was _definitely_ vanilla. “You’re not supposed to do this. You’re an angelic omega.”

The color in Aziraphale’s cheeks deepened. “I just wasn’t sure if...”

“ _If_?” Crawly prompted, trying not to breathe too deeply. What was happening? What was his heart doing? How did he even _have_ a heart? Demon 101 had said he was heartless now, loveless and unloveable without _Her_.

Aziraphale looked back at him, blue eyes more like the gray clouds overhead. “I wasn’t certain if it would be... holy,” he admitted, “and I didn’t want...” He hadn’t wanted him to die. Unaware of Crawly’s existential crisis, he looked out to find Adam and Eve, hand-in-hand as they sought shelter from this new storm thing. A small smile quirked his lips. “Well, it’s just normal water so I needn’t have worried.”

“Ngk,” agreed Crawly. A fucking omega - an _angel_ \- had just tried to save his life. He’d given his flaming sword away, let the humans escape the garden,[6] and now he’d (needlessly, sweetly) saved him.

Well. He’d been a shit angel, Crawly thought as the heart he wasn’t supposed to have skipped a few beats. May as well be a shit demon too.

\----

**3004 B.C. - Ark (Noah’s)**

The unicorn thing was upsetting.

“How was I supposed to know they needed _two_?”

Aziraphale smiled at him, the lines fanning out from his eyes deepening in a fond amusement. Their first millennium on Earth had been fairly eventful, many new things and languages and clothes and _things_ being invented. The population was small, too, so the two of them had been very busy gallivanting across the new globe to spread both blessings and temptations at the behest of their respective Head Offices.

Mesopotamia had proven itself to be a rough spot and the source of Crawly’s first commendation for something he’d had absolutely no involvement in. At all. Curiosity had brought him to the place, the big boat with its traveling zoo, and the angel who watched the goings-on with fidgeting hands and weak platitudes about a “rain bow.” How was a “rain bow” supposed to comfort anyone over the fact that everyone else, children included, were drowning? Had already drowned, more like, considering that the Ark was rocking on wild waves and their peek topside had revealed not one single scrap of seeable land.

“Didn’t you notice that they were all traveling two by two?”

“Yeah, but I thought that was just...” He waved a hand. “Aesthetic purposes.”

Aziraphale blinked once, then twice, and his smile evolved into giggles. “You’re a _demon_. Shouldn’t you know about, ah, hm. Reproduction?”

He hadn’t gone to that seminar. He hadn’t gone to _most_ of Hell’s seminars. Place bloody _reeked_ for one and, for two, he was sure most of the information was outdated. “Almighty pops babies into bellies and they squirt out or something.”

“Gosh. But- Well, you must know about... coitus?”

“Fucking?” Crawly’s brows arched at the bright flush that overtook the omega’s face. “Course I know about fucking, angel. One of the easiest temptations to do.”

Aziraphale very deliberately did not ask if Crawly had tempted a human into his bedroll over the past thousand years, deciding he didn’t want to know. The thought of it made something in him ache too much, so he focused on the task at hand. “It’s how most animals and humans create life, Crawly.”

Golden eyes rounded. “Wot.”

Oh, yes, the unicorn thing was very upsetting. Aziraphale may not have been able to interfere, but _he_ could have. Bollocks.

\----

**1301 B.C. - Egypt**

Aziraphale shook his head, voice a low whisper. “Listen to me, my dear, there’s going to be another round of searching tonight. You’ve hid him well these three months, but you _must_ be reasonable.”

Jochebed held her baby, her youngest, close to her chest. She looked destroyed and Aziraphale understood. He understood so well. The land was so miserable, horrors of slavery and abuse abounding. But, if he understood what few orders he’d been given, this baby needed to be rescued from the slaughter. He’d help one day. “I can’t,” his mother whispered. Her scent was as distressed as her expression, and while Aziraphale could’ve simply overpowered her mind, he didn’t like to work that way. His own scent tucked around her, warm and as soothing as the Nile’s gentle waters.

“You can, Jochebed. God will keep watch over your Moses, and one day he will return to his people.”

She looked out at the Nile, hidden with the angel amongst the reeds along the riverbed. “You haven’t had children.”

He never would, but he didn’t tell her that nor did he mention the ache that wrought. Grieving something that couldn’t be was wasteful. Children were a distraction and certainly didn’t belong in Heaven. The urges were just... a dangerous side-effect of living amongst humans.[7] “Well, no. But I watch over all of them. The Almighty guides me, Jochebed, just as She’ll guide Moses.”

He folded his hands, lifting a finger to his lips to keep her quiet, and then wove a soft reed basket with a gentle miracle that also kept it watertight. “An angel,” she gasped, eyes going bright with tears when he nodded. “But Aaron and Miriam... My mate. What will Amram say if he discovers I’ve let our son go?”

“Amram is a faithful man, and I have no doubt you will raise faithful children who will serve the Lord just as well as Moses is destined to. Be honest with him and with your eldest two. But leave him with me, my dear lady.” They heard shouting in the distance and the aching mother looked up, scent spiking in fear.

Aziraphale was sure she’d flee in that moment, run and get both her and the babe killed, and was already writing his memo to Head Office to explain his failure when he suddenly found the boy being thrusted towards him. He blinked, pressing a hand to his chest. “My dear-”

“Please. I cannot put him in the basket, but I will give him to an angel.”

He wasn’t supposed to get involved to that extent, but her desperation and the need to keep her son safe moved him the same way Adam and Eve’s desperation to protect their unborn child had him bending the rules. Moses became the third baby he’d ever held, and he was very gentle as he shifted him, supported his head in a soft cradle. Cain, he remembered, had screamed and cried anytime Eve wasn’t holding him. Abel had cooed and gurgled with delight, happy to be passed about. Aziraphale simply hadn’t gotten close enough to be able to hold someone’s baby after what had happened to them. He gently nudged the swaddling blankets down, Moses’s eyes wide and dark and curious. Aziraphale sighed. “Go on, my dear, before you’re caught here. Have faith.”

She nodded and fled, Aziraphale watching until she disappeared and something moved in the water beside him. He spun, splashing a bit, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw familiar golden eyes.

“ _Crawly_ ,” he hissed, “must you sneak up on me like... like a...”

“A demon?”

“A _snake_.”

Crawly smiled, but his gaze fell to the infant in Aziraphale’s arms and lifted his brows. “So is this him?”

“Him? Him who? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aziraphale lied, looking anywhere but at him. “He’s- He’s just a baby. An ordinary, average baby. No concern of yours.”

“I see you’re still a terrible liar.” Crawly nudged down the blankets just as Aziraphale had, and the angel was quietly stunned by just how soft a smile curved his lips. “Word from Downstairs is that he’s s’posed to free the slaves. Big enough deal that Beelzebub themself came up to encourage Ramses to order the deaths of all newborn males. It was quite the todo.”

And he looked, if Aziraphale was reading him right, disgusted by the whole thing. “Yes, I suppose so. Where’ve you been?”

“Oh, Eastern Woodlands, y’know. They’ve been doing new things with earthworks and I was curious. Didn’t know all this was set until I was summoned.”

He rolled his eyes and, though Aziraphale commiserated with the annoyance, he said nothing. “Summoned to make sure they... they did kill all the children?”

“Nah. This is the only one that specifically needs to die.” Crawly watched Aziraphale curl his arms more protectively around the infant, only scowling at him. “Do I look like I kill babies?”

“I...” Aziraphale swallowed, scenting nothing but faint annoyance in the demonic alpha. Not an ounce of murderous intent. “No. I suppose you don’t, but... If that’s what you’ve been ordered to do...”

“‘Oh, damn,’” he deadpanned, like reciting a report, “‘the angel beat me to it. He’d already placed the babe in a basket and sent him off to...’ where’s he going?”

“The pharaoh’s daughter likes to bathe in the river this time of night,” Aziraphale explained, not completely sure why he did.

“Right, that’s even better. Send him off to the pharaoh.”

“Why... why is that better?” Aziraphale wondered, his protective hold gentling even when Crawly reached out to trace a finger along the curve of the babe’s cheek. He was so much more gentle than a demon ought to be, a fact which startled him each and every time they met.

“I can’t get involved with the royals. They think they’re gods, so most of them - especially this one - are Hellbound. If this lad makes it his way, I won’t be able to touch him.” He smiled, sincere enough that Aziraphale had to look away or blush. “You made a basket without a lid?”

“Ah. I didn’t want to frighten his mother. Are the waves higher further down?”

“Usually. Especially if someone’s bathing. Ripples strengthen; you know that.”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling something else rippling. It was dangerous, and he was not particularly fond of putting himself in dangerous positions. Still, he asked, “Would you like to hold him?”

Crawly stared at him, eyes as wide as they’d been when Aziraphale had first admitted to giving away his flaming sword. “Do wot?”

“I know that, ah, at times you like to have a female corporation, but you’re still an alpha. Not many parents, even betas, relinquish their children to unfamiliar alphas. I just thought you might like... an opportunity. He doesn’t seem frightened of you.”

“Tch. _You_ seem more scared of me, little omega.”

“I’ll smite you where you stand, skinny alpha.”

Crawly laughed, only just staying quiet enough for them not to be heard, and reached out. “No, you won’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale very carefully entrusted the future of Egypt’s Israelites to a demon. “Only because it might frighten the babe.”

“Uh-huh. All about him, right.” This was not the third baby Crawly had ever held. Where Aziraphale kept his distance to avoid further hurt after what Cain had done to his brother, he was too curious. He liked babies and kids, some alpha instinct in him wanting to keep them all safe. He was still demon enough - or practical enough - to know he couldn’t, but the urge was there and he wasn’t particularly interested in destroying one himself. “They always start so small, don’t they?”

Aziraphale leaned into him, their cheeks nearly brushing as they gazed down at the baby. “Oh, yes. The little dears.”

There was a faint scent, a touch of yearning wafting up with all that warm vanilla in the angelic omega’s scent. Crawly cleared his throat and shifted away from him before _that_ could catch. “Come on. We should put him in your basket.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale eased him back out of Crawly’s hold, lifting his gaze and a smile, but stilled. They both did. Each of them touching a baby, faces closer than they’d ever been or should ever be. It was a different sort of yearning that flooded them. “Crawly...”

Why was his throat suddenly so dry? Crawly wondered, clearing it. “Should get a move on, angel.”

“Yes. Yes, we should.” Aziraphale shook his head, taking Moses out of his grasp and settling him in the reed basket. “There we are, you little darling.” He took the lid Crawly handed him with a smile, and was less surprised by it than he probably should have been. “Thank you.”

“Don’t say that. I told you already: a demon can get in a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.”

“And yet...”

Crawly’s eyes rolled, but he watched Aziraphale settle the lid over the baby and gently push it farther into the river. The waves would undoubtedly carry him where he needed to go. “Demons are going to come into Egypt soon, just so you know. That’s plan B if, y’know, the kid makes it to the pharaoh.”

“Why are you telling me?”

There was a beat of silence, a moment for Aziraphale to wonder if he’d just made quite the mistake. “Look, I know what Heaven thinks about demons and I know what everyone thinks about alphas. I _know_ I’m supposed to be some monster. But I can make choices too.”

“We don’t have Free Will, Crawly. That’s the entire point.”

“I thought so too. What’s the kid’s name?”

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath, looking out towards the basket bobbing across the waves. “Moses. Why?”

He turned away with a wave and slunk down into a thin coil of scales. “Sssomeone ought to let the pharaoh’sss daughter know,” he hissed and swam after the basket with serpentine grace.

Aziraphale folded his hands. Crawly had been ordered to kill the baby and now that he was disappearing, he very well still could. He couldn’t pray that he wasn’t making a mistake lest someone hear, but he could hope and he could... trust. Because, no, Crawly wasn’t a monster. Far, _far_ from it.

\----

**41 A.D. - Rome**

Four thousand years on Earth had changed Aziraphale’s scent a little. He still carried that subtle vanilla, but there was something like bergamot in there now. He could only just smell it over the sea-salt scent of oysters. Really, he shouldn’t have been able to smell it _at all_ across the table, but when Aziraphale had cheerfully approached him to share some house brown, that pre-heat coated smell was all he could breathe. He was _grateful_ for the oysters’ overpowering nature.

Usually, he stayed well away from Aziraphale when this was happening but, like his own ruts, Aziraphale’s cycle couldn’t pick a timeframe. For humans, it was steady and stable. Two weeks once a year post-presentation, right around their birthdays. For them, birthday-free and immortal? They may as well throw a dart at a map for all the consistency. Once per century was the suggested timeframe, but even four thousand years in[8] things couldn’t be pinpointed. It also lasted a full month.

The idea of a full month in bed with Aziraphale was...

Crowley’s[9] brain sizzled to a stop. Nope. There would be no thinking about any time in bed with Aziraphale. An angel and a demon had no business falling into bed together, no matter how much Crowley craved[10] him. He tortured himself instead, watching juices from Petronius’s _remarkable_ oysters slide down Aziraphale’s chin, the pale column of his throat, right over his scent glands. He wanted to lick just there, _bite_ just there.

“You realize you have the eye of every single alpha in here?”

Aziraphale dabbed linens against his lips, his chin, his neck. “I’m not going to go into hiding pre-heat just because of some baser instincts. Besides, my dear, you’re sitting across from me. No one’s going to be silly enough to approach.”

A brow arched over the tops of Crowley’s new sunglasses. “Using me, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes, bright blue with his pleasure, sparkled as he picked another oyster off their platter. “Of course not. But I have been rather... eager to try these and haven’t yet managed it. Running into you was quite fortuitous.”

“You utter prat,” Crowley accused, Aziraphale’s response a pleased hum as he sucked a shell clean. “At least tell me you’ve got a place to lay low when it really kicks into gear.”

“Of course I do.” Aziraphale cleaned himself off again and smiled across the table. “Are you worried about me, Crowley? I thought you were still a demon,” he teased. “Perhaps you’d like a side of ants.”

“Could just toss you to the lions and leave now, if you prefer,” Crowley grumbled, lips quirking despite himself when Aziraphale tutted at him.

“Wolves, I think, would be more appropriate. And even you’re not that much of a snake, you wily thing.”

His answering grin had too much fang in it, and Aziraphale’s scent spiked enough to be noticeable. Neither of them mentioned it, but Aziraphale spent his heat alone and Crowley got the Hell out of Rome.

\----

**537 A.D. - Kingdom of West Essex**

Crowley blamed his rut. What had he expected, really, when presenting Aziraphale with an option to _not_ do his job? To make up reports? He was a fucking _angel_. Yes, he’d lied to God[11] but that, apparently, was far different from lying to the Archangels or whoever the Heaven had landed paperwork duty. If they were as backlogged as Dagon, Lord of the Files, it really shouldn’t matter.

Except of course it would matter to Aziraphale. The omega had a heart as warm and meltable as gold, encased in something as impenetrable as diamond. Often, Crowley wished his own stupid heart was as safe.[12]

Like right then when that sweet scent reached his nose. Vanilla, bergamot, and a hint of leather. _Shit_ , he thought, and Aziraphale sat beside him at a tiny table in the corner of a darkened pub.

Neither of them had their armor now, Crowley’s hair cascading down his back in messy waves Aziraphale had to tell himself not to touch. He very carefully folded his hands in his lap, determined not to touch. He’d never smelled Crowley pre-rut and it was... an experience. He could’ve turned off his ability to smell, certainly, but he very much did not want to. The alpha smelled of woodsmoke, apple cider, and something primal and promising. It made him want to submit, so of course he’d stormed off when Crowley had proposed some sort of... slothful arrangement. He’d needed to get away and think without that scent clouding his mind.

He had to think, very carefully, about what this meant in regards to Heaven. The blessings and miracles he was assigned to do, he reasoned, really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. No one Above truly understood humanity and, perhaps, some sort of agreement between him and Crowley could free him up to do a few more truly good deeds. Effect change where it mattered.

“S’no wine on tap, but they make a fine cider,” Crowley offered into the silence, desperate to think about anything besides pinning Aziraphale to the table and tearing his breeches right off. Shredding the tunic. His grip on his ale tightened, the cup threatening to break until Crowley glared at it.

“You’re drinking ale?”

“Yup, but we both know that’s not your thing.”

“It’s barely yours,” Aziraphale pointed out, sending Crowley an amused look when he outright growled at the barman to get over there. “There’s no need for that,” he scolded lightly when he walked off again, Aziraphale’s order in mind.

“You’re getting your cider, aren’t you? You would’ve had to get up otherwise.”

Neither of them wanted Aziraphale to get up, and neither said a word about that. “I suppose so. Now I was thinking about your... proposal.”

Crowley took a steadying swallow. “Were you?”

“Yes. I still don’t like it.”

Golden eyes rolled. It had been some time since Aziraphale had seen him without a pair of sunglasses, but the snake eyes had proven quite useful in his spreading of foment. People thought he was a dragon or cursed, and whichever it was, it was best not to fuck with him. It had kept him from outright swinging his sword in battle more than once. “Angel-”

“I’d like to modify it.”

He stopped. “What?”

Aziraphale smiled at the barman when his pint was set down, and Crowley snarled at him.

“Now you stop that, Crowley. He’s just a beta.”

“If he was an alpha, I’d rip his head off,” he muttered.

“Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, clearing away any and all Effort that was stirring to life under the powerful alpha hormones. Goodness. Crowley usually came across as so gentle. This was... “Anyway, as I was saying, you are correct. Our orders are typically so intertwined, I should hardly have been surprised to see you masquerading as a Black Knight.”

“What about you? An omega at the Round Table?”

Aziraphale lifted his chin just a touch. “I don’t prescribe to the belief that omegas are _delicate_ , Crowley. I’m just as capable as you.”

“Mnngh.”

“Your suggestion, however, leaves far too much opportunity for sloth. What I would _like_ to do is... Well, I’d like to continue following orders.”

Crowley drummed his fingers against the table, watching Aziraphale take a slow drink from his pint. He watched his Adam's apple bob and wished he could scrape his teeth against it, wished he could mark him and then soothe every bite and scratch with his tongue. “How is that any different from now?” 

“It's very different, my dear boy. If only one of us was to go... Well, that would certainly alleviate canceling one another out, as you put it.”

“One of us.”

“Yes. If our orders happen to, ah, convene in the same area.”

“ _You_ would do some tempting.” His lip curled. “An angelic omega.”

“I can handle it.”

Crowley scoffed. “Right.”

Aziraphale glowered at him before rising sharply. “Obviously, I shouldn't be attempting to have a rational discussion with you when you reek of rut.”

“And you're more reasonable pre-heat?” 

“Yes.”

“Bollocks.”

Aziraphale turned smartly on his heel and stormed out. Crowley went upstairs to work his rut out alone and, eventually, he found Aziraphale again. His version of this possible arrangement did have some merit, after all. And it might be fun to watch an omega try to tempt someone.[13]

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

4. Not that Aziraphale knew what an oil slick was anymore than Crawly knew what a lead balloon was. They’re actually not speaking or thinking in English at the moment, as English doesn’t yet exist. These are all just approximations, really.↩

5. Literally.↩

6. Of course Crawly saw. He’d done quite a bit of following the angel, watching him in the garden. He never would’ve approached him otherwise.↩

7. And of having feelings for one specific alpha, but he was still burying those as far as they could be buried.↩

8. Longer, if one considers the time before the Fall. Neither angel nor demon cared much for thoughts before the Fall.↩

9. He’d changed it. Crawly was a bit too squirming-at-your-feet ish. But, as Aziraphale had pointed out, he was a snake.↩

10. Loved, but he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.↩

11. This revelation had come many, many centuries earlier when they’d both been too drunk and too sad about Egypt’s plagues. Secrets and wine alike had been spilled.↩

12. He was ready for love now, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.↩

13. “Fun” wasn't the right word. “Surprising” and “hot” were better.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we'll see how they're getting along in current day next chapter!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/) and my lovely beta at [americapt](https://montgomery.co.vu/).


	3. Raspberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby takes control, and it's obviously Crowley's influence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, amycoolz and my ever-present cheerleader [SkimmingTheSurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface)! 
> 
> Lowkey, this is probably my fav chapter so far.

**Present Day - London**

Not having expectations for pregnancy did not help. The baby had other ideas, and Aziraphale was flustered and- and _queasy_. “The baby doesn't like sushi. How can the baby not like _sushi_?”

“How do you know it's the baby's fault?” 

Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a glare frosty enough that he almost stopped dabbing sweat from his brow. It was a new thing, as unusual as their location. They'd been to the sushi restaurant together hundreds of times, but they had never seen the bathroom. Aziraphale hadn't even known where it was, but it had been a desperate and very sudden need.

“I am six thousand years old and have eaten sushi as long as it's been possible to eat it. I have not, however, eaten sushi with a baby before. Ergo, this-” He gestured to the toilet his meal had found a home in. “This is the baby's fault and _your_ influence.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but closed it on a thoughtful hum. The baby was half his. “It's not _all_ food, though. You've been fine so far.” Aziraphale pouted at him and Crowley sighed, cupping his cheek. “Don't look like that, angel. This isn't a thing I can fix.” 

“Well, it-” He made the exact same sound he'd made in the middle of his sushi platter and Crowley helped him up to his knees. Then he rubbed his back through it, his jacket already discarded. When the latest bout of sickness passed, Aziraphale sat back and Crowley returned to gently wiping his brow. “I don’t know what I was about to say. This is wretched. Have you ever... Oh, of course not.”

Crowley smiled. “Once. Rolled out of a pool of boiling sulphur and puked until I couldn't anymore.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sympathetically sighed. 

“But that was a long time ago and this is now. And, I... kinda think this might be normal?” 

“Normal?! This- It can't possibly be normal. Besides, I am an _angel_. This is the baby rejecting sushi.”

“The baby can't make decisions. They- well, they're...” Crowley shook his head, glancing down at Aziraphale's stomach and trying to think. “How big even are they?” 

“I don't _know_ ,” Aziraphale complained, treacherously close to a whine. It had been three weeks since Adam's little announcement and two since Crowley had stumbled into the kitchen one morning, babbling about changing scents. One week since the smell of escargot had him abruptly changing his mind and asking Crowley to take him for Italian instead. It had turned his stomach in an unfamiliar way, but he'd known better than to sit and continue smelling the normally pleasant appetizer. He'd had no problems breathing in sushi, but that apparently didn't matter. Eating it had turned his stomach and shaken the contents loose. “Oh, I hope this isn't normal. How terrible for all past and present pregnant persons.”

“Future?”

“It didn't fit the alliteration, but yes.”

“Ah.”

“Don't make fun of me, Crowley. I'd much rather not be cross with you when you're being-” he deliberately leaned into him “-nice.”

Crowley couldn't do a single thing but grumble nonsensically. He couldn't exactly push him up against a wall right then. “Prat,” he eventually settled on, reaching up to flush his sick away. “Let's get you home, angel. I'll make you some tea.”

“Yes, that would be-” Another round, though there wasn't anything left in his stomach and the dry heaving was somehow worse. “Crowley,” he whined, huddling up against him after. 

“I know, angel.”

Aziraphale let his eyes close, soaking up the soothing scent of his alpha. The queasiness seemed to have largely dissipated, but his throat felt uncomfortably raw and his nose burned. Awful, _awful_ experience. “Do you still have Newton's telephone number in your mobile telephone?” 

“If I don’t, I'll just bring it back. Why?” 

“He took those pregnancy preparedness classes. I'd like to know if this wretched business is normal.”

“Right. Home first, though. If you can stand?” 

“I think so.” Crowley rose first and held out his hands, hauling his omega to his feet. Then he picked up his coat from a floor he'd miracled clean and helped him into it. Aziraphale leaned into him, nosing into the Bond Mark and breathing in his scent. So familiar and tangled up enough in his to be so very right. “I'll ask him how big they are, too.” He hummed. “I should get a book about this, shouldn't I?”

“Could always Google it.”

Aziraphale drew away and straightened his bowtie. “I'm going to get a book. Do you think the chef will be offended if I don't eat everything?” 

“He knows you're pregnant, angel. The whole restaurant knows.”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale smiled, laying a hand on his stomach. He wasn't showing and wouldn't for a few months yet, but it was part of his scent. Just as much as Crowley was part of his scent. “And they know you're why.”

Crowley grinned, all alpha pride. “Yup.”

Shaking his head fondly, Aziraphale took his hand. “Let's pay and head home, dearest. I'd love some tea and one of my books. Oh.” He frowned as they left the bathroom, a fresh miracle leaving it as clean as new. “You can't drive.”

“I drove us here.”

“Yes, but I'm still a bit... peaked and you drive like an utter madman.”

“Oi, I can drive safely.”

“Not once in the history of vehicle ownership have you driven _safely_.”

“That doesn't mean I _can't_ do it. I'm not going to make you sick, angel. Mnng. Sick _er_ , anyway.” Crowley huffed at his pointed look. “I'm your alpha, for fuck's sake. I'm not going to make things worse for you.”

Aziraphale watched him set far too many bills next to his half-eaten food, hating the fact that his stomach churned at the sight. “I don’t know. I'm still convinced it's your fault that the baby doesn't like sushi.”

“The baby doesn't have taste buds.”

“Obviously not or they would like sushi.”

“S’pose we’ll find out once the baby’s actually here and not...” Crowley paused mid eye-roll and mid-sentence. “Hang on, babies don’t eat solid food, do they? They don’t have teeth. They just...” He gestured towards his own chest and Aziraphale frowned. He’d forgotten about breastfeeding. “When does that happen again? The teeth and eating solid food?”

Aziraphale stared at him and Crowley stared back, both of them getting a sinking feeling in their chests. Neither of them knew the answer to that question. “Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, horrified, “are we being incompetent with our own child?”

Crowley let out a flurry of wordless noises, spasming in place. It was a clear _yes_. He yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand to drag him out of the restaurant. “I’m calling Newt.”

“Yes, let’s- Yes. Tip-top idea, darling.” Aziraphale let himself get bundled into the passenger seat of the Bentley, the ringing audible when Crowley slid behind the wheel and handed over his cellular device.

“I put it on speaker,” Crowley explained, turning a key that should not actually be able to turn any longer in the ignition.[14]

“Right. Don’t drive too quickly, please, and mind the road.”

“I’ll-” The snap broke off, Crowley deflating a bit when he actually looked at Aziraphale. The angel had his head tipped back, eyes closed as he gently cradled Crowley’s cellphone in hand. He still looked a shade too green for his liking, and his scent was tinged with worry. Bonding had opened a whole world of his omega’s emotional state and Crowley knew it went both ways. He made himself calm down, manipulated his own scent until it was wrapped securely around Aziraphale. “I’ll be safe,” he promised, Aziraphale rewarding him with a weak smile as the phone call was finally answered.

“Um. Hello?”

“Hello, Newton. It’s me, Aziraphale.” He pushed cheer into his tone, sounding like himself to anyone who hadn’t known him for six thousand years. “How are you, dear boy?”

“Oh. I’m good. It- Anathema, you were right, it’s them. Er, it’s Aziraphale.”

“Crowley’s here as well. Can he hear you too, dearest?”

“That’s how speakerphone works, angel.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.”

“Hello, Crowley,” Newt greeted.

“Ngk.”

There was a moment of shuffling and Anathema’s voice trickled over the line, suspicious as ever. “Hey, you’re on speaker. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale hastily assured her. “Absolutely nothing, dear girl. Everything’s quite fine here. No complaints whatsoever.” He frowned when Crowley nudged his glasses down enough to give him an arch look. “Stop that. You said you’d watch the road.”

“I haven’t even pulled out of the parking lot yet,” he protested.

“Well.”

They stared at one another for a beat before Crowley pushed down on the accelerator. The Bentley went backwards out of sheer expectation,[15] taking them out of the parking spot, and they went forward again when Crowley expected that too.

“Then why are you calling?” Anathema wondered.

“Ah. It’s about... Well, our baby. Mine and Crowley’s,” he added, both to be clear and to say it aloud because it was still so very exciting. He liked the way Crowley’s lips curved when he said it too. His darling alpha. “Which is why I contacted Newton.”

“Did something happen?” Newt wondered, the concern in his tone very much welcome.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. We were having a lovely dinner when... How does one say this delicately?”

“He puked his guts out,” Crowley said, not at all delicately. Aziraphale frowned at him.

Newt, though, made a sympathetic sound. “Oh, morning sickness?”

“My dear boy, it is seven o’clock in the evening.”

“No, that- It’s just what it’s called. I think because most pregnant persons just, er, throw up first thing in the morning or right after breakfast. But it can happen at any time.”

“Oh, Crowley, it _is_ normal,” Aziraphale lamented. Crowley reached over and patted his thigh in solace, keeping his word in watching the road. He was still well over the speed limit, but he didn’t know what that was and it was far slower than his usual ninety so Aziraphale didn’t feel a need to comment.

“You didn’t know about morning sickness?” Newt asked, stunned. “Haven’t you seen... trillions of pregnancies?”

“Of course, but that hardly makes me intimate with the proceedings. Good Heavens, Newton, I’ve never followed a pregnant person from conception to birth before. It’s always only been snatches. I wasn’t even directly a part of Mary’s pregnancy. That was largely Gabriel’s duty and, really, all he did was provide her and Joseph with some very basic details and let them have at it.”

Crowley hummed. “Weren’t you s’posed to get them a room at the inn, though?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, slanting Crowley a look. “ _Someone_ distracted me by trying to replace the kings’ gifts with _practical jokes_.”

“Oi, they were much funnier than what they did bring. Perfumes and gold for an infant,” he scoffed. “He would’ve appreciated a toy.”

“An animated spider is _not_ a toy.”

“Are you saying I can’t give our kid an animated spider?”

“ _Crowley_.”

“Are you two really talking _casually_ about the birth of Jesus Christ?” Anathema asked, managing to sound both incredibly patient and impatient all at once. 

Aziraphale could respect that. He’d mastered it himself. “Apologies, my dear. Ah. Where were we? Oh, yes, the point was that we have discovered that we know nothing about pregnancy and, despite my intentions, _things_ are happening. The baby is defying angelic expectation.”

“Well...” Newt paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Every baby does that. Not specifically angelic expectation, but definitely others. Um. Some parents have an easy time with it and no morning sickness or vice versa, some have wild cravings and some don’t... Some have it differently for each pregnancy. The first kid can be busy and wild, and the second might be calm and steady. So it’s really not up to the parent ever. It’s always the infant who leads.”

“Aha! So it _is_ the baby who doesn’t like sushi!”

Crowley sighed gustily. “Alright, yes, you win that one.”

“Your influence,” Aziraphale mumbled petulantly, missing or simply ignoring Crowley’s side-eyed glare. “Thank you very much for the information, Newton. I was wondering, perhaps, if you might drop by the bookshop soon? I’d like to take up your offer to discuss a typical pregnancy.”

“Sure. Do you, um, know how far along you are?”

“Six weeks. A week after we left your lovely cottage, my scent changed.”

“Okay. Morning sickness usually goes away near the end of the first trimester.”

Aziraphale went still. He wasn't one for maths, no, but he could do those numbers easily enough. Twelve minus six was too high an answer for his liking. “Newton. Are you suggesting that I may have to tolerate this highly unangelic purge for the next six weeks?” 

“Uh. _Sometimes_ it goes the whole pregnancy.”

That was worse than six. He made a pained sound and immediately found one of his hands in Crowley’s. “It'll be alright, angel.”

“Oh, yes, you can say that. You're not the one suffering from this poorly named sickness.” Which wasn't very sporting, all things considered. Crowley suffered when he did and he'd always been that way. He could've rushed off during the sudden onset or not stayed through it. Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “Anyway, would you be amenable to coming to the bookshop? Crowley’s flat is a bit unwelcoming-” 

“Ngk.”

“Not to me, dearest, but to others. And my little spot above the bookshop isn't suitable for guests, but downstairs is fine. I'll be happy to close up.” Nevermind that he hadn't been open in a week. 

“Um. Sure. Where is it?” 

“Soho,” he cheerfully explained. “On the crossroads of, ah, Broadwick and Berwick.”

“Okay. We can, uh, come tomorrow? We're helping Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell move this week, so we were planning to be in the city anyway.”

“Someone has to help them pack,” Anathema explained.

“They're moving?” Aziraphale wondered, surprised. 

“Have you still not checked on them?” she demanded. 

“Ah... Well...” Aziraphale couldn't wring his hands together, cradling Crowley's phone as he was, but he did shift uncomfortably in his seat. 

“It's complicated,” Crowley offered to fill the silence. “Aziraphale's never possessed anyone before. Doesn't know all the... etiquette involved.”

“Oh, stop that,” he huffed, then froze. “ _Is_ there etiquette involved? Gosh, Crowley, we need to go and see them. We'll pack their things to make up for any undue stress,” he decided firmly. Crowley grumbled under his breath, but it was more a show than actual protest. Aziraphale had long since learned the difference. “Thank you. In any case, Newton, Anathema, tomorrow will be lovely. Come at any time. Crowley sleeps, but I tend to avoid it.”

“I don't plan on sleeping the day away, angel. I'll be up.”

“Wait, you're not sleeping? You're pregnant.”

Anathema’s tone had Aziraphale frowning down at the phone. “My dear girl, I've only slept a handful of times across the millennia. It's important to stay watchful. Humans need sleep.”

“But you have a human body, don't you?” 

“Well, yes, of course. I take care to keep my corporation charged appropriately with some minor blessings. It isn't-” 

“Wait, so you're expending energy to keep yourself awake and you're not letting your body or your growing baby rest.”

Aziraphale hung up the phone. 

Aziraphale panicked because he hung up the phone. “Oh, Crowley, that was- I didn't say a _word_ to her! That was _awful_. She was only trying to help- How do I call them back?” 

Crowley laughed, stopping the car as they pulled up to the bookshop. He took the phone and redialed, Newt answering almost immediately. “Hi. We stopped and he hung up handing me my phone. He's rubbish with technology.”

He appreciated the lie, but very much did not appreciate the lie. Aziraphale sighed and climbed out, straightening his clothes before they crossed the street together. Crowley didn't bother putting Newt back on speaker, the conversation over by the time they made it to the door. Aziraphale opened it and they stepped inside, Aziraphale folding his hands and pretending everything was jolly good. 

Pocketing his phone, Crowley knew better. “You're not torturing the baby by not sleeping.”

“How do _you_ know that? Maybe that's why they made me sick. I'm being too taxing on them.” He let Crowley lead him to the couch instead of his favourite armchair, sitting next to him. 

“They _just_ said it's normal, angel.”

“Yes, but sleeping is also normal. For _humans_.”

“You throwing up in a public stall seemed pretty human.” Crowley took one of Aziraphale's hands in both of his, ignoring his petulant glare. “Look, like they said, the baby's in charge here. We’ll get you a book, a dozen books if you want, and figure out what that means. I'll even read one.”

“You'll _read_?” Aziraphale smiled, laying his free hand over their joined ones. “You really do care.”

“Shut up.” Crowley leaned in, letting their brows touch and not arguing when Aziraphale slipped the sunglasses off. “I know this is new. I know neither of us knows what we're doing or what to expect. But we'll figure it out, angel. They seem very weirdly willing to help us.”

“I think they might consider us friends, actually.”

Crowley blinked. “Why?” 

“Darling, we did help them subvert Armageddon. That would... cause quite the attachment, I should think.” Aziraphale cupped his cheek, so familiar under both his gaze and touch. “I know your human friendships are normally very different.”

“Myeh.” As if it was flippant and easy to pick up and move on when a connection he'd made grew too suspicious to be kept or when, in da Vinci's case, they died. It was something Aziraphale and only Aziraphale could empathize with. He'd done the same. It was impossible to live in this world and not make connections and find heartache because of them. Especially when the two of them couldn't use the connection they had with one another. 

They could now. They _were_ now. 

Aziraphale gently took hold of one of Crowley's hands, laid it over his belly. “If they're willing to help us with this, I won't question why they've decided to befriend us. We need to be at least a little competent.”

“I don't think we can handle more than a little of that.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Perhaps not. I think I should begin sleeping a bit more regularly, though. Not every night, but... It seems like a simple enough step to take.”

“You know your side of the bed's always open.” Be it the bed they occasionally shared in the flat above the bookshop or the flat in Mayfair.

“I know, dearest.” He'd known for a very long time. “Where’s that tea you promised me? My throat hurts, of all the offensive things.”

“Mm. And your throat can normally handle so much abuse.”

Aziraphale pulled away from him immediately, pushing him off the couch. “You wicked thing.”

Laughing, Crowley rolled to his feet and sauntered off to the kitchenette in back. Aziraphale leaned back against the cushions, idly rubbing his stomach. “What are we going to do with that demon of ours?” he murmured, wondering if the baby had ears yet. Probably not. They'd know soon, he was sure. Just needed to do a bit of research.

\----

Hours later, he was pressed against Crowley’s side on the couch, the two of them studying articles on his narrow phone screen. 

“Parenting blogs,” Crowley muttered. “Why did I have to come up with _blogs_?” 

“Were those yours? I thought journaling was mine.”

“It was. Putting it online was mine. Especially food blogs. People ramble on and on about food when all the reader wants is the damn recipe. It was brilliant.”

Aziraphale hummed, smile soft and serene when Crowley slanted a glare at him. He didn't have to point out the fact that Crowley’s more successful temptations generally came back around, but, “Once again, my dear, your evil wiles have negatively impacted you just as much as anyone else. What goes around, as they say-” 

“Myeg, nuh,” he interrupted. “Whatever. I'm not negatively impacted. It's _fine_.”

“Mmhm. How long have we been trying to find out how much sleep I should get? I think we've seen no less than eighteen different opinions and not _one_ medically viable source behind any of them.” 

Crowley shut off his phone. “Oh, whoops. Battery must be dead,” he deadpanned, bland look not fading as Aziraphale giggled beside him. “I say we just go upstairs and you either sleep until you wake up or until my alarm goes off, whichever happens first.”

“I'm not even tired.”

“You yawned less than five minutes ago.”

“Yes, but I fixed that with- oh.” He coloured a bit, clearing his throat as he realized what he'd done. “Don't look at me like that, Crowley. It's a habit.”

“Right. Come on, angel.” Crowley rose, holding out his hands to pull Aziraphale up. “We're going to bed. Next time you yawn, you're not going to alter your corporation. You're going to close your eyes and sleep.”

“I _know_ how to sleep, but it's hardly something I can just... do all the time.” Though he went to and up the stairs with Crowley. “I'm a guardian and I always have been. Guardians don't sleep. They _guard_. It's the entire point, isn't it?” 

“You know what else you are, angel? Pregnant.”

“Yes, but that shouldn't negate all the rest.”

They stepped into the bedroom, Aziraphale’s scent so heavy in this private space, his nest, that Crowley felt his shoulders instantly relax. The familiar, soft scent washed over him and made everything feel soft and warm and wondrously safe. His own scent was still barely there, just as Aziraphale's scent was only barely in his Mayfair flat. They went back and forth, neither sure where to settle yet. 

Crowley turned and carefully undid Aziraphale's bowtie. “I'm not saying it should.” Fingers gentle, he started to work down the row of buttons on his waistcoat. “But taking care of _you_ means taking care of the baby. Our baby.”

Aziraphale sighed, letting him move onto the next set of buttons without complaint. It was a sweet sort of intimacy. “I do want to take care of them, dearest. It just seems a bit...”

“Selfish?” Aziraphale hummed, but didn't deny it. Smile soft, Crowley unhooked his trousers. “I could call you a lot of things-” 

“And have.”

“Course.” It went both ways. “But not selfish. Just consider yourself on leave, angel. Or under new orders.”

“Temporarily reassigned.” It was nice to play along and pretend it could be that easy. 

“Exactly.”

He sighed heavily as his clothes were carefully removed and just as carefully replaced with his favourite tartan pyjamas. “I can't,” he eventually admitted. “Not every night. It wouldn't be responsible. We agreed to take care of this world when we saved it from destruction and I can't possibly shirk that.”

“ _We_ agreed, angel. It's not only your responsibility. I can stay awake just as easily as you.”

“You're not a guardian, Crowley. You're a creator, first of stars and now of mischief.”

“Yup. And we've been in those roles our entire lives. So I think it's my turn to guard.” He laid a hand over the growing baby. “And yours to create.”

“Oh, you impossible thing...” Aziraphale’s heart swelled, arms lifting to wrap around his neck. “When you put it that way, it's very difficult to object.”

“S'what I was aiming for.” He scooped Aziraphale up and settled him in bed, a simple snap changing his own clothes as he crossed to the other side to slide beneath the covers with him.

They met, as it had become so easy to do, in the middle. It didn't take much at all to have Aziraphale pillowing his cheek over Crowley's heart, his fingers stroking through soft platinum curls. The softest rumble of alpha purrs made Aziraphale smile, eyes closing. They were so rarely offered from Crowley, they were impossible not to succumb to. At least a little bit. “I'll sleep, darling, for a little while.”

For the whole night, it turned out, under the watchful eye of his demonic alpha. 

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

14. He hadn’t taken the key out since 1933 and it had, over the decades, melted into place. It shouldn't be able to start the car at all, but when the slightly terrified salesperson had handed Crowley the key, he’d said “This starts the car” and so the demon had seen no need to ever take the key out. He also assumed that if turning it started the car, turning it again turned off the car. At this point, he isn’t going to believe anything different.↩

15. The slightly terrified salesperson had told Crowley that, “This pedal makes the car move and the further down you push it, the faster the car goes. This one makes the car brake.” Any attempts at discussing “shifting gears” had been wholly ignored.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Ch, we're earning the Explicit rating. 💖
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/) and my lovely beta at [americapt](https://montgomery.co.vu/).


	4. Whims of an Alpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new sort of arrangement is born and chains rattle in the Bastille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [lazulibundtcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulibundtcake/pseuds/lazulibundtcake), who stepped in very last minute (Genuinely can't say thank you enough!) and my ever-present cheerleader [SkimmingTheSurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface)!
> 
> [amycoolz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycoolz/pseuds/amycoolz), my normal beta, did sneak in a footnote of her own whilst I was writing this so be warned of that.
> 
> There'll be some show dialogue in here. And we earn our explicit rating! Where else but the Bastille? 😈

**1601 - Globe Theatre, London**

With the Arrangement settled over the next thousand years, a clan leader recently tempted, and a horse just as recently ridden, things were simpler. Much more complicated in some ways, but simpler overall. Crowley took the truly wicked temptations and gave Aziraphale the more basic ones. As good at tempting as he'd proven to be, he was still just a sweet angel. It was better that Crowley prevented any true tarnishing of that shiny halo. Some other blasted angel might come 'round and muck up everything if Aziraphale was led into a Fall, so he was doing his best to avoid that. He'd have to actually do _more_ work if Aziraphale left, and that was just annoying. 

Or that's what he told himself every time he let himself lose a coin toss. 

He told himself a lot of things when pretty blue eyes found him in the crowd[16] and, by Satan, was there ever a crowd. While the young actor, Burbage, delivered a powerful soliloquy, Aziraphale weaved through the throng until he was on Crowley’s right side. He reached out and gripped his sleeve, eyes even brighter than they'd been when Crowley had offered to make the terrible play a hit in the first place. 

“Oh, _Crowley_.” Vanilla, bergamot, leather, and joy. He radiated it, and knew he did. He let himself. He'd only been in Edinburgh for two weeks and certainly hadn't expected to come back to all this.

Crowley cleared his throat, tempted to shrug, but he didn't want to do anything that might make that sweet hold go away. “Don't thank me.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. I- oh.” Aziraphale stepped closer, jostled by people behind and beside them. “Gosh,” he complained, but there was a little too much cheer in it as he tipped his gaze up. “So sorry, my dear. I think you may have done too good a job.”

They were closer than they normally let themselves get to one another, Aziraphale snug against his side. It would be too easy to twist his wrist and touch-

He extracted his arm from between them, deciding it was safer to put it around the omega instead. “Had nothing to do with this, angel.”

“Liar,” he replied, a little too breathless. He hadn't expected the warm weight against his back, long fingers laying over his hip. The press of bodies around them couldn't hope to drown out the demonic alpha's heady scent. It made Aziraphale's head spin from a safe distance. This was... 

He felt _held_ and _safe_. He instinctively yearned to tuck into his side and never leave.

Aziraphale swallowed, lifting a hand to push against Crowley’s chest and force some distance between them, but there was nowhere to go. He watched Crowley's throat when he swallowed, so tempted to lean in and _lick_. Gosh. When both hips were cupped, he went a little lightheaded. There wasn't a heat or a rut to blame if something happened. He desperately wanted something to happen, but was terrified that something might. Crowley was an alpha. Ultimately, he had quite an advantage so-

Aziraphale gasped when he was turned, his back pressed firmly against Crowley’s chest. The hands at his waist didn't leave, but they weren't forcing him to stay either. “Crowley...?” 

“Just... Just watch your play, angel.”

Aziraphale did, listening and watching the actors passionately recite their lines. It was so different with an actual crowd, listening to everyone gasping and exclaiming, making everyone feel appreciated as Shakespeare had said before he'd even left for Edinburgh. A miniscule, scattered audience of mostly workers, an angel, and a demon were all who had been present then. But now, oh, now. He should've known Crowley would do as well at this as he had. After a thousand years of their Arrangement, he'd seen the effects of Crowley’s work. He was as good at blessing as he was tempting and, Aziraphale had to admit, he himself was the same way. They approached things differently, perhaps, but everything was happening as needed. 

And it was nice to spend time together. Yes, he could be annoying and awful, but he could also be so very sweet and nice. Stirring up _Hamlet_ 's success at nothing more than a pleading look was very sweet and very nice. It seemed, more and more, as though Crowley would do anything for him. But that was, well, any alpha around an omega. They treated them like glass sometimes, or as if the thoughts in their heads were no more than wisps of air. Crowley may have looked at him, sometimes, as if he was something fragile and soft, but he certainly never treated him like he was a person with air in his head. He treated him _well_. The same way he had since they'd first met in the garden, a snake slithering alongside a curious angel. 

Suddenly, he felt Crowley's hands leave his waist. The long line of him edged back and Aziraphale knew, just knew, he was going to leave. So he tipped back, connecting solidly with his chest again and making him splutter and press closer again so they both kept their balance. “Angel, for-” 

“Hush,” he interrupted quietly, the hands that had returned to his hips going very still. “We're inconspicuous here, and no one's noticed us.”

“If someone did, you'd tell them we weren't friends.”

Aziraphale winced, but took hold of Crowley's wrists to pull his arms better around him. “It's safer that way and you know it.”

“It'd be safer if you weren't an awful liar.” Crowley could hardly breathe, only not turning that need off because he wanted to keep inhaling his scent. He was soft under his hold, warm and... “Ngk. What are you doing?” 

“Falling prey to the whims of an alpha.”

Crowley would've let him go immediately if Aziraphale hadn't tightened the grip around his wrists. “ _Aziraphale_.”

“We're in a crowd of people, and you've snuck up behind me. Obviously, struggling would cause quite the scene and need all manner of miracles to clear up. And if you're tempting me, you're obviously not going to be tempting them.” Aziraphale spoke very carefully, clearly, hoping Crowley would understand what he was trying to say. 

Of course he did. He wasn't an idiot, and neither of them were oblivious to the tangle of desire in their scents when they were together. It just wasn't strictly wise to act on it. Aziraphale had a lot to lose entangling himself with a demon, so the little ploy made sense. He had more to risk than Crowley, who could gain quite a lot of favour for tempting an angel. 

But that wasn't what this was. Or if that's all Aziraphale thought it was, Crowley wasn't going to participate. He didn't think he could do that to himself. Not even for Aziraphale. “Do you _need_ tempting?” 

Aziraphale struggled not to squirm, unsure why Crowley's hold was still loose and his body still so stiff behind him. “I- Don't make me answer, Crowley. You should _know_.”

“Of course I _know_. I can't be around you without smelling it, but I want to _hear_ it.”

Fingers flexing over his wrists, Aziraphale huffed quietly. Anyone could hear. It was easier, safer if it was a game. If they didn't say it out loud, then nothing bad could happen. Perfectly sound reasoning, in the angel's opinion. 

“Angel,” Crowley murmured, low in his ear, “we'll play. We've been playing games for more than five thousand years.” Aziraphale wasn't the only one who understood the value in safety, who knew they were walking a tightrope each time they met. “But this starts real or it doesn't start at all. Ask now and we'll make up the rules later.”

“Crowley...”

“I'm not going to _just_ be some alpha demon defiling an omega angel. You’re not making some monster of me.”

Aziraphale gasped, tipping his head and shifting in his hold to see his face. “No! No, that isn't- I didn't mean that at all. I only meant- Er. Well.” His gaze slid askance and Crowley cupped his chin, forcing his gaze back up. 

“I know. Asssk.”

There was a beat of silence between them, another. The crowd gasped and fluttered around them when Queen Gertrude announced Ophelia's tragic death. Only a few short acts remained.

Crowley's hold stayed easily breakable. Aziraphale dropped his gaze to his lips again and again, trying to tell him without words. He would've very happily been dragged right out of the theatre and into whatever inn they reached first, let it look as if he was being taken exactly where he didn't wish to go. If Crowley _knew_ , then it didn't need to be said. 

Aziraphale turned away from him again, left his hands on Crowley’s wrists. “Stay. If you would, please stay. Let me think.”

Crowley bit back a huff or a growl or a sigh - whatever it was that rolled up and tried to spill out in hurt frustration. Being asked to stay, at least, was a step forward. He was much more used to being asked, in his eternally polite way, to leave. Staying where he was, enveloped in his scent, was far more preferable. Even if this ended up being his only chance for another five thousand years, it was worthwhile for Aziraphale to know where his mind, if not his heart, was. 

Their Arrangement was in words, and since this was, in many ways, infinitely more dangerous, it needed to be too.

Eventually, with Hamlet and Laertes fighting in a grave, Aziraphale came to the same conclusion. He didn't wish to hurt Crowley, after all, or make him feel... base. He was, had proven himself to be, quite a bit more than an average alpha and certainly more than an average demon. 

Swords clinked and clanked on stage, the crowd cheered Hamlet on, and Aziraphale whispered, “Kiss me.”

Were anyone paying more attention to them than to the scene on stage, they would’ve been surprised by the suddenness of movement between them. They’d been so still, only breathing in enough air to scent one another. Aziraphale was surprised, really, to suddenly be chest to chest, lips to lips. Long fingers were buried in his hair, pressed against the small of his back, and Crowley’s mouth was so warm. Warm, solid, insistent.

No tempting was needed for him to part his own, to sway into Crowley and kiss back. To the outside, it may have looked as if the alpha had gotten impatient but they knew better between them. They knew it was Aziraphale who deepened it, tongue seeking in hesitant laps. It was Crowley who made a sound as if he’d just sampled the sweetest of fruits. Aziraphale’s hands lifted as if to push him away, but only clung more tightly to his doublet. Crowley pressed him closer - impossibly, incredibly closer - until they felt as if they were melting into one another, taken over by an instinct that went deeper than _should_ or _should not_. 

It was only a need, more like a _finally_ , and it was hardly going to be enough to sate either of them. This was their own forbidden fruit, taste and sensation and scent swirling until neither of them could handle another moment.

They broke apart, twin gasps for air puffing against their lips. Crowley’s nose had the smallest indent from where his sunglasses had pressed into his skin, but he didn’t move his hands to adjust them. Not yet.

“Angel,” he breathed.

“Oh, my dear... I don’t, ah, I don’t have a room just yet. I came straight here when I heard- And I did hope you would be here. So I-”

“Inn I picked is close,” Crowley interrupted, giving Aziraphale a careful squeeze. “We can, mnng, talk. About whatever this is.”

“ _Talk_ ,” Aziraphale echoed. Though of course they should talk. Yes. There had to be rules for whatever came next, after all. “Yes, we should... we should certainly discuss... gosh.” 

Crowley grinned with too much fang and the flare of the omega’s scent was certainly noticed by those nearest to them. Embarrassment reddened his cheeks, but Crowley latched onto his hand to begin weaving through the throng. They would talk, absolutely. 

Later.

**\----**

**1793 - Paris**

Over the better part of two centuries, the rules were well-established. They were as careful with this as they were with the Arrangement, though it was much more difficult to stay apart from one another now. 

Crowley hadn’t confided this to Aziraphale and had absolutely no plans to do so, but the last two ruts he’d endured had been the worst. Aziraphale hadn’t confided this to Crowley and had absolutely no plans to do so, but his previous heat had been abject misery. Despite being a demon and an angel there was only so much they could do in their earthly corporations. If they left them behind and slipped into their true forms, flipped to an entirely different plane of existence, well. It would be easy as anything to exist outside of their cycle for the month.

It would’ve been better for them both, probably, but they’d gotten so used to their corporations. Crowley’s was still of Heaven, even, largely undamaged by his Fall. Unlike others who had cracks and animals tacked over wounds that would never truly heal, only his eyes had been truly affected. They were unchangeable and unhideable, so he kept his dark sunglasses on unless he and Aziraphale were alone together.

Which had not been the case for nearly fifty years and was starting to become a problem. One of their rules may have been no biting, but his skin still itched for the omega’s as if they’d properly mated when they parted for too long. Sooner rather than later, he knew he’d have to go find him. Make sure he wasn’t harmed, breathe him in, make sure he was happy, breathe him in, make sure he remembered who his alpha was, bre-

Fuck. Maybe he needed to go find him now if he was getting extra possessive. He tried not to be, saving all that jealousy for his ruts. 

Aziraphale, thankfully, didn’t feel the same waves of jealousy. Well, that was a complete lie. _In theory_ omegas were not to feel jealousy. Alphas were supposed to spread their seed, impregnate who they could during their ruts to spread strong genes. Omegas were supposed to be, well, _grateful_ for the opportunity to bear children. As most omegas tended to be women, Aziraphale heartily said pish-posh to such societal and borderline sexist “norms.”

Though, for the moment, he was oddly grateful for those norms. They’d kept him alive thus far, as the French guards squabbled over the propriety of adding a rare male omega to their kill count. Every inch the English aristocrat, he frowned down at the chains clamped around his wrists. Those squabbles did not seem to be ending in his favour, unfortunately. The Frenchman’s babblings over him being the 999th aristocrat to die by his hands was largely ignored, especially when he veered off into territory Aziraphale was very familiar with after suffering there for the past... four days, he’d been there? Five? Oh, time bled together at the best of days. This was certainly no exception, skewed by the way his body wanted to flush with something like fever.

Thankfully the babbling Frenchman, telling Aziraphale he should be grateful to be taken out during what would otherwise be a miserable heat, was just a beta. Another omega would’ve snapped the clutched at tethers of his control and an alpha... Gosh, an _alpha_.

Best not to speculate.

Hands suddenly touched his collar and Aziraphale all-but vaulted off of the little stool. “Please! _No_ ,” he snapped. “Dreadful mistake, discorporating me. Oh, it’ll be a _complete_ nightmare,” he complained, eyes rolling upwards. Just what he needed, really, to be sent up mid-heat. Angelic alphas would start pestering him within minutes. Even with the required hormonal suppressants, he’d _seen_ it happen to other unfortunate omegas who had a quota to fill and Gabriel in charge. Oh, to be a beta heedless of the near mindlessness inherent in a cycle...

Outside the very narrow window, a guillotine was released and the crowd cheered at the dreadful _slice_ at the bottom. His would-be executioner turned towards it to join in the praise and Aziraphale huffed, not noticing him freeze in place. “Animals.”

“Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, angel. Only humans do that.”

“Crowley!” He spun with a gasp, thrilled to hear him. But the delight dropped almost immediately as he took in Crowley's outfit, the rusty red of his coat and the plain black of all the rest, the tight curls in his hair. Very revolutionary. And ugly. He had to swallow every ounce of want lest he ruin his breeches, swiftly turning off his sense of smell. _Alpha, alpha, alpha-_ “Oh... Good Lord.”

Crowley smiled, his own sense of smell off as one whiff of Aziraphale had nearly made him groan with need. It took a different sort of effort to keep his tone casual, matching the way he was lounged against the bars. “What the deuce are _you_ doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.” At least that’s what they’d discussed the last time they’d been together.

“Well, I was...” Aziraphale shimmied a little, the chains jingling just enough to draw Crowley’s gaze. “I got peckish.”

“‘Peckish.’”

“Well, if you must know, it was the crêpes.[17] You can't find decent ones anywhere but Paris.” His head tipped a bit as he returned to his stool, feeling far safer with Crowley there even if he couldn’t smell him. It wasn’t as if his scent would be very soothing, at the moment. “And the brioche.”

Crowley’s brows lifted. It was the same thing, always, with this bloody omega. Not necessarily about food, no, but the bad, hedonistic decisions were exhausting to keep up with. Entertaining to indulge, yes, but there were also moments like this to contend with. “So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?” 

“I have standards!” Affronted, Aziraphale pouted at him anew. “Besides I always get, er, certain cravings before...”

“Before heat.”

“Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. No need to be embarrassed when it was obvious. “Unfortunately, I'm a bit... It's taken longer than it should have.”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I was only supposed to be here for a day, at the most. Or a couple of hours, preferably. I was already a bit, ah, on edge. Unfortunately, things haven’t particularly gone to plan.”

Arousal stirred in Crowley’s gut. He’d assumed that Aziraphale was still pre-heat, shutting off his sense of smell before he could really get a full picture of the state of him. He was sorely tempted to turn it back on, to breathe in and... “Ngk. How long have you been here, angel?”

He squirmed a little, chains rattling, and Crowley only just managed to keep from wetting his lips. “A few days, I think. Long enough to...”

“You’re in heat. All the way in heat.”

“Oh, don’t just _say_ it like that, Crowley. It’s already thoroughly humiliating. Do you know they were discussing using me for... Well, for something a bit more physical than decapitation?”

That got him on his feet, sunglasses whisked off and eyes a molten gold. Aziraphale shivered. “Wot.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said.”

Crowley advanced on him slowly, sunglasses landing on the dirty cell floor. “What did you say to that suggestion?”

“Well, I’m a bit out of practice with my French so not much of anything, I’m afraid. I could still understand them, of c- _Crowley_ ,” he protested, but it was perilously close to a whine when the chain was yanked hard enough to force him to the edge of the stool. “Now you- you stop that. I wasn’t going to let any of them - or anyone else - touch me.”

“Then why are you still here? Perform another miracle and you’re home.”

He pouted up at him, brows drawing together with stormcloud blue eyes beneath. Even unable to smell him, the demonic alpha was a feast for the senses. “I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many _frivolous_ miracles.” He tried to tug his hands back, but Crowley held fast. It left him a little breathless. “Oh... I got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

And saving himself from discorporation during a revolution was frivolous somehow. Leave it to fucking Heaven. “Well, you’re lucky I was in the area.”

“I suppose I am.” Aziraphale swallowed, eyes wide and distractingly guileless. Crowley testingly lifted the chain and Aziraphale shuddered, hands forced over his head. His tongue felt thick and stupid in his mouth. “Ah. Um. Why are you here?”

“My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance.”

Of course they had, Aziraphale thought bitterly, though his first instinct to question him on the truth of that was drowned out by much stronger instincts. His fingers flexed, body swaying closer to the warmth of Crowley’s. “Mmhm.”

He tucked a finger beneath the angel’s chin to lift his gaze. “You really are in heat, aren’t you?”

“Day, ah, day or two in. Not sure. I’ve been trying to, ah, override things, you could say.” He shuddered at the feel of Crowley’s fingers sliding down his throat to toy with his lacy cravat. “It hasn’t quite worked.” 

“So you haven’t gotten any relief yet, then.”

“Oh,” he sighed, lashes fluttering as he closed his eyes. “Don’t tease, dearest. You _know_ I haven’t been able to do anything.”

“Right. Too frivolous.” Fascinated by the reactions, he slid his hand down the front of Aziraphale’s shirt, fingers teasing along the edges of his brocade jacket.

Aziraphale arched into the light touch. “Stop, please. I’m getting...”

“Wet,” Crowley growled, watching the omega duck his head in an attempt to hide the flush that rippled over his cheeks. But he did stop, letting both chain and jacket slip from his hands.

Aziraphale pressed his hands to his stomach and averted his gaze, trying to pull himself together. “We haven’t discussed... We’ve always avoided one another for these things. And I don’t expect-”

“What do you want?”

The interruption brought the pout back, Aziraphale turning his gaze up in an irritable flick. “You know I hate when you do that.”

“Make you use your words? Oh, yeah. Absolute worst, me.”

“Interrupt me, you wily old serpent. I’m in _heat_. You know what I need.”

“Course I know what you _need_ , angel, and I know exactly what you don’t expect. What do you _want_?” The stretch of silence that followed made Crowley’s eyes roll. “Choices, then. I can pop you home and leave you to yourself for a month. I can pop you to an inn where they’ll serve you crêpes in a month. I can pin you to that wall right there, knot you, and then get us to your place or that inn. Have your pick.”

The little moue didn’t leave his lips, but his eyes had flickered at the offer of a knot. It was almost unfair. “Crowley... If you- I wouldn’t be able to handle it, I think, if you left in the middle. I’d need you with me the whole time.”

His brows arched. “If you’re trying to talk me out of it, promising a full month of sex isn’t the way to go about it.”

“But a full month of us both being gone, why... It isn’t... Oh, Heaven, these hormones.” It was difficult to think when every facet of his being was begging him to turn around and bend over. 

“I just got a commendation for a war I didn’t start. No one Downstairs is going to bother me, and I’m sure you sent your little time of the century memo Upstairs before you showed up here. And got yourself arrested, looking like a tart.”

“For your sake, you had best mean the pastry.”

Crowley grinned.

Sighing, Aziraphale shifted on his stool again. He was distractingly ready for him, even without his scent. With it, it would be even worse. “Mm... Against the wall, you said?”

He briefly tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Think I just discovered I rather like seeing you covered in frills, all chained up.”

“How like an alpha,” he replied, almost lightly and almost with his normal fond disapproval. There was a layer over it, an edge of excitement and eagerness that clawed at Crowley’s instincts.

He cupped his cheeks instead of, well, anything else his body wanted him to do, as gentle as could be. “Kinky and heat-driven sex aside, you’re on some stupid miracle ration in the middle of a war and had to start your heat alone in a jail cell. Even if you tell me to just take you home, I’ll get you some damn crêpes and brioche and leave them at your door. If you want me to be a part of it, just say so. If you don’t, say so. Time’s still stopped and it’ll stay stopped so long as we need it to.”

Of course, it was the gentleness which reached him. Crowley could be such a darling thing when he wanted to be and even now, wrapped in hormones, Aziraphale’s heart quivered as much as his body. “All the normal rules, I think, still apply. No biting, anyway. Ah. I’m not entirely sure how receptive I may be to stopping once we get started.”

“It’s a good thing I’m a demon, then.”

No, Aziraphale would simply say that it was a good thing Crowley was himself. Form hardly mattered. “Well, then. I’m not entirely certain how well I’ll be able to contain myself once I actually scent you, so... I enjoyed what you were doing before I, ah, told you to stop.”

Crowley smirked, enjoying the way Aziraphale attempted to swat him before he grabbed the chain and jerked it up. “You mean this?”

“Gosh,” he breathed, his next inhale filled with alpha. _Oh_. He took another deep breath, letting the familiar scent of him take over. “Oh, Heaven.”

“They’ve got no part in this.” Crowley’s slitted pupils were blown as wide as they could get, achingly hard in his breeches with that first scent-filled breath. He’d smelled him wet before, but not like _this_. Every scent that was normally so subtle had a stranglehold on Crowley’s each and every sense. He kept his hands jerked high, but fisted a hand in Aziraphale’s shirt and buried his nose in his neck. The lace collar hid much of his scent gland, but it was overwhelming enough. “ _Angel_.”

Aziraphale whined, a sound usually far more difficult to wring out of him, but his fingers flexed helplessly when he couldn’t start undoing Crowley’s buttons with his hands trapped. He arched against him instead, nipped at his earlobe. “Hurry. Hurry, please, I- Oh, darling, how I need you.”

He wasn’t normally so blunt either. A heat with Aziraphale was going to kill him, demon or not, but it was going to be worth every line of paperwork. “‘Hurry?’ But I thought you liked all these clothes of yours, angel. Wore your prettiest things, didn’t you, reeking of pre-heat?”

“Yes, and they’re getting- They’re-”

“That’s it, angel. Say it.”

“Damp,” he snapped, and Crowley grinned. Still a little fight in him yet, which was one of his favourite things about his angel. Not an omega to take lightly. 

“I think they’ll stay that way a little longer.”

“ _Crowley_.”

Gripping the chain, Crowley hauled him to his feet and drew him closer to the wall. The links vanished one by one until Aziraphale was pressed snug against the stone surface. It was cool against his heated skin, cheek rubbing against it. He didn’t know who between them had made it clean, but no dirt smeared onto his brocade jacket or his skin. He could feel his slick soaking through his underclothes despite his attempts to press his thighs together to stem the flow. Crowley cupping his arse and pushing him more firmly against the wall only made it worse, a keening sound escaping as he writhed against unforgiving stone.

His hands were still high over his head, palms pressed against the prison wall as he tried to push back into Crowley’s hands. They were so firm, long fingers squeezing and encouraging more slick to soak into fabric. “Are you even going to need prep? Could tear these off you right now and just thrust into you. Fuck you until your knees get weak and you’re stuck on my knot.”

Aziraphale let out another keening sound, nodding desperately. “Crowley, please.” He gasped when a snap of Crowley’s fingers didn’t take away the breeches, but did send his underthings into the ether. “You wicked thing,” he whined as if he didn’t love it.

“You smell better than anything in Heaven,” Crowley purred, untying the knotted collar. He pressed his groin to Aziraphale’s backside, rutting against him and listening to his whimpered pleas until he finally had access to his scent gland. No teeth, as per their rules, but he laved his tongue over the spot to draw his scent out even more. “Better than the stars.”

“Oh, Crowley, you- Wretched tease,” he complained, pushing back and shuddering at the dampness trickling down the backs of his thighs. “I’m _wet_ ,” he gasped, giving in. “I’m wet for you, you wicked-” He broke off on a choked sound, a forked tongue teasing his ear and a devilish hand reaching around to palm him through his breeches. 

“Soaking wet,” he purred, “and your pretty little omega cock is nice and hard, isn’t it? I should play with it, shouldn’t I?”

“Oh,” he whined, writhing against him. “No, please, you said- I need your _knot_.”

Crowley pressed him against the wall to still his movements, kissing the back of his neck. They did have their normal rules, but the heated scent of him was maddening. He just had to make sure- “Safe word?”

“Oh- oh, you darling. Scriptum, but I don’t need it.” He twisted enough to look back at him, pupils blown wide in arousal. Blue eyes were nearly black from it, but still somehow so affectionate. “Keep going, dearest, please. It’s _wonderful_.”

Crowley surged forward, kissing him at the awkward angle while his hand stole beneath the breeches and found his fat little prick hard and hot and dripping. Crowley liked swallowing it whole, letting it stretch his mouth wide and listening to Aziraphale wail from it. He was so sensitive, so needy, that a few strokes of his hand produced the same sound. Breaking the kiss to nuzzle into his scent gland, Crowley nearly wheezed against his neck. 

“Gonna come for me, then? Ruin these breeches, angel. The pretty clothes you thought you could get away with during a revolution. All this lace and gold. A heated little coquettish tart, ripe jussst for me.”

The hiss and a forward piston of Crowley’s hips did it, Aziraphale crying out desperately as his seedless release streaked over Crowley’s fingers and into the breeches. Behind him, his slick spilled and positively ruined the fabric. “Crowley! Crowley, _oh_ -!” Aziraphale shivered and shuddered through his release, held up by his wrists and Crowley firmly pressing against him.

As the shuddering stopped and Aziraphale discovered his legs could still hold him up, Crowley found him just as hard against his palm. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Aziraphale laughed, a little breathless and a lot needy. “It’s heat, darling, what did you expect?”

“Nrrmn.” He cut off Aziraphale’s next round of amusement with a snap of his fingers, earning a gasp instead when his breeches finally vanished. All the rest, his lace and jacket and even the knee socks, stayed. “Never been involved in someone's heat before, angel. Sorry I don't fully know what to expect.”

Two fingers, three, slipped in easily and Crowley couldn't help the possessive growl against his neck. Aziraphale pushed back, seeking more, eager for anything. For everything Crowley wanted to give. “Crowley, _please_.”

He made a sound, something high and instinctive and Crowley's free hand fumbled twice in his attempts to snap his own breeches far, _far_ away. He sucked in a sharp hiss of a breath when Aziraphale's snap removed them instead. “Barely counts as a miracle, really,” he managed. 

It was a good thing Heaven didn't know what his miracles _actually_ were,[18] Crowley thought, though the desperate edge in Aziraphale's voice and scent made any such quips impossible to actually say aloud. All he could do was grip Aziraphale's waist, bunch up his silly brocade jacket, and sink in. He took his time, grip on the omega tight enough to bruise in his efforts to keep him from pushing back. His desperate chants of “yes” and “please” and “Crowley” were doing plenty of work to tear at his control as it was. He didn't need those hips making things worse. It didn't keep his muscles from drawing him in, the rhythmic clenching the sweetest torture even after he was finally fully seated. 

“Ngk, angel...” 

“More, Crowley, _please_.”

There was really no refusing. Even when Aziraphale wasn’t in heat, it was hard not to give into him. With that heady, unique scent ensnaring his senses as completely as it was now, he was hopeless and helpless to some of his own instincts. He pressed a hand between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, pushing him more firmly against the wall and listening to his breath hitch on helpless little whines as he uselessly squirmed.

His hips drew back slowly, as slowly as he’d sunk in, and Aziraphale’s noises turned higher, more desperate. His legs spread a little further apart and he shifted to the balls of his feet, still encased in satin buckled shoes. A possessive wave crashed over Crowley and he snapped his hips forward. The wet sound, the slap of skin against skin, the _wail_ it ripped from Aziraphale - all served to make Crowley shudder. 

“That’s it, angel. The _sounds_ you make.”

He made another, softer and pleading, and that possessiveness washed over Crowley again. It spurred his hips on, the pace brutal enough to rip a pleasured sob from the omega as he was so thoroughly taken by an alpha. He knew Crowley would take care of him, that he always did when they managed to be together, but heat was a different animal. He hadn’t been sure what to expect and, oh, he never could’ve imagined better. Crowley growled against the back of his neck, teeth grazing dangerously, and Aziraphale cried out as another release shook through him.

Crowley moved through it, hands falling to Aziraphale’s thighs to give himself an anchor. Everything in him was screaming to sink his teeth in and, whether Aziraphale realized it or not, the omega’s breathless pleas of desperate encouragement now included the word “bite” and it was taking every ounce of his control not to let his fangs pierce skin. The danger it would put them in - put his angel in - was enough of a deterrent, even through the haze of sensation.

The base of his cock started to swell, Aziraphale’s rim catching against it, and “bite me” became, “Knot me, knot me, yes, _Crowley_ -!”

 _That_ , he could do. 

He slid a hand around to find his prick, fingers barely closing around it before he was letting go. Knot swelling and release spilling deep, Crowley let it drag him along. Aziraphale let his eyes close on a long moan, satisfaction rolling through him as every jerk of his hips proved futile. He was well and truly caught. Caught and full, the sensation soothing his heat in a way he’d never been able to experience before.

As their shudders slowed into gentle quivers, Crowley banded his arms more securely around Aziraphale and let the cuffs around his wrists come apart. The omega gasped, only Crowley holding him up as he sagged against the wall. His wrists stung a bit, but it was a small discomfort and a bigger relief to be free of them. Even if he couldn’t turn and wrap his arms around Crowley, a testing wiggle of his hips and Crowley’s grunt making him smile.

His tongue laved over the red marks his teeth had scraped to soothe them. “Alright, angel?”

“Jolly good, actually.”

Crowley nipped his earlobe in displeasure, but Aziraphale wiggled his hips again in retaliation. “If you dissscorporate me with all your _moving_ , you’re going to regret it.”

Somehow managing to sound haughty whilst knotted and pressed against a prison wall, Aziraphale scoffed. “If this sort of pleasure was capable of discorporating us, we would both be doing copious amounts of paperwork. You’ll be fine, dearest.” Then he wiggled again like the bastard he was until Crowley grasped his waist and stilled him.

“ _Fine_ , fine, but I’m barely clinging to time right now unless you _want_ to be seen like this.”

“Not, ah, not especially.” He’d actually forgotten about the would-be executioner, the pink in his cheeks from embarrassment now. At least he wasn’t facing them, and thankfully Aziraphale couldn’t smell anyone but Crowley. Still, he huffed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Oi,” he protested, pinching his hip. “You enjoyed it. Barely did anything more than make the suggestion and you were begging. How are your wrists?” he wondered, cutting off Aziraphale’s next protest.

He lifted them, shifting the lace down to show him the red chafing and take a peek himself. “They’ve been better, I suppose, but it’s been a few days.”

“I’ll take care of it. Could pop us to an inn now if you want. Have someone bring crêpes up to the room and leave them by the door if you’re still feeling peckish.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, really? That would be _lovely_.”

“Right.” Crowley leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Get ready then. Might be an adjustment.”

“Hopefully not _too_ much of one,” Aziraphale replied with a little petulant pout.

Crowley lifted a hand and snapped, the echo of his laughter and their scents the only things left behind. Though neither of them knew it, the would-be executioner ended up on the block himself for letting the English omega escape. They were far too busy over the next month to be aware of much besides one another anyway.

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

16. Like _behave_ and _behave_ and _for fuck’s sake BEHAVE_.↩

17\.  \- [amycoolz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycoolz/pseuds/amycoolz)

 _How dare you. You come into **MY FOOTNOTES**_ \- Syl

Lmao - amycoolz↩

18. Heaven’s judgements on frivolity really involved the power behind them. Too many strong miracles? Must be overdoing things or getting yourself into too much trouble. Too many minor miracles? Must be underdoing things and overcompensating. Lose-lose, you say? Welcome to Heaven.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/) and my marvelous beta at [lazulibundtcake](https://lazulibundtcake.tumblr.com/).


	5. Lime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expectations are discussed, memories are shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, amycoolz and my cheerleader [SkimmingTheSurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface)! You’ve both been instrumental in getting this fic off the ground, and I hope everyone enjoys it half as much as you two are.
> 
> Tw: Non-graphic mentions of body/eye mutilation. Specifically, discussions of how Crowley’s eyes turned gold in the Fall.

**_Present Day - Soho, London_ **

They had Newt on speed-dial. They didn't have nearly as many questions for him now that Aziraphale had found and read through no less than fifty-seven books on pregnancy. He complained that he would be able to read more if Crowley wasn't forcing him into bed for six hours of sleep every night, the maximum he seemed to need and almost more than he could stand. It was important for the baby, though, and it wasn't as if Crowley didn't, ah, wear him out beforehand if the mood struck them. 

Or in the morning, something Aziraphale found he liked very much. It almost made sleeping worthwhile, waking up to his alpha and making sweet, sleepy love as early sunbeams warmed the room. Some of the books had suggested he'd be more sensitive during pregnancy and they'd certainly been right. He knew Crowley, as giving as he was, adored it.

Crowley adored most things about this situation. He _had_ read a book as promised and Aziraphale had caught him reading a few more besides. They each wanted to be prepared for whatever happened next, though both were edging towards nerves. They hadn't yet heard a heartbeat. At eleven weeks, it should've been audible to scans. That certainly meant it should also be audible to a demon and an angel, but week twelve still showed no audible signs of the baby. 

Oh, Aziraphale knew the tiny being was there and that they were a mobile little thing. He'd known this body for six thousand years and at three months, the tiny presence was _noticeable_. It was, perhaps, trite, but he understood why he'd heard a pregnancy referred to as a miracle. It certainly felt like something the two of them had conjured up. He still minded getting ill after the occasional meal or, well, in the mornings when the label decided to be accurate, but everything else?

He was more than fine with everything else. Just, ah, a bit worried. Not hearing a heartbeat was wearing on him, on both of them, so perhaps it was time to not let the baby lead _completely_. They were still an angel and a demon, after all, and the baby was... well, helpless and growing into whatever it was growing into.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called, grabbing his attention away from quivering plants. “I think we should, ah, discuss expectations.”

“Expectations?”

“For the baby.”

Crowley’s fingers flexed on the plant mister as he entered what had once been a very simple office. With Aziraphale visiting more often and his job out the window, the desk had been replaced with a coffee table, his throne offset so he could look out the window when he wanted, and there was now a loveseat and an armchair to watch the television or read a book. They were all still black, all very precisely modern in shape, but they were _comfortable_ because they were expected to be. Even one wall now had black bookshelves, the old books on them the only things in his flat which really seemed out of place. They were an easy concession for the angel, his creams and whites and beiges decidedly out of place in the dark, minimally decorated flat. He was still a stunning sight there and _baby_ was still a stunning word to hear and he didn’t know that either of those things would ever lessen. “Dunno what you mean, angel. The only thing I’m expecting is, y’know, _birth_.”

Aziraphale sighed quietly, closing his book. He really hadn’t been able to focus much on it anyway. “Yes, but... Well. This sort of thing has obviously never happened before. An angel and a demon having a child. We know Adam is a Nephilim, in addition to being the Antichrist, as demons have been, ah, fornicating with humans so long they have a term for their offspring.[19] You and I, however-”

“You’re having an angel,” Crowley interrupted, dropping onto the loveseat.

Aziraphale paused, hands folded over his stomach. “Pardon?”

Crowley waved a hand, leaning back and trying to look everywhere except Aziraphale. “We’re, I guess, but you’re carrying them and all and you’ll have to actually handle giving birth. But they’re an angel.”

“Crowley...”

“Alright, you need an explanation. Fine.” Crowley finally looked at him, leaning forward a bit. “I’ve still got the same body She gave me. Eyes got a little mucked up, but everything else is what I had when I was an angel. Yours may have come from the Antichrist, but I’m not willing to put aside the idea that he just, y’know, regenerated what you’d lost. Not to mention, your shiny halo is still very much intact and you’re growing the kid. All that adds up to angel for me.”

“You don’t expect they’ll be half-demon? At all? Just- just a complete angel.”

“Mnngh...” He wiggled a hand, leaning back again. “Yeah. They haven’t done anything to warrant a Fall, have they? And aren’t you the one who’s always reassuring Adam that he isn’t bound for Hell just because of his parentage? If the Antichrist has a chance at crossing through Peter into the good half of Heaven, why should being stuck with... _me_ as a parent guarantee some sort of Hellish allegiance?”

“Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant. I-” Aziraphale cut himself off, hands fluttering at Crowley’s soft smile. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know that the baby’ll have a Heavenly allegiance either. What I think is that we’re having a little Earth angel. Whatever happens after that is up to them.”

“An Earth angel,” Aziraphale hummed, laying his hands over his stomach again. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, giggling at Crowley’s pinched expression.

“Make one joke, _one_ time and he never shuts up about it.”

Aziraphale wiggled happily, but decided he was much too far from his demon. He pushed himself up to join Crowley on the cosy little loveseat, delighted when an arm immediately draped over his shoulder and kept him close. “Even if our baby did end up half-demon, for whatever reason, I wouldn’t mind. I don’t need them to be an angel for them to have all of my love. You have it.”

“Ngk. Yeah, but this,” he laid a hand on Aziraphale’s belly, “means I’ll have to share.”

“Oh, poor darling. I’m quite sure this means I’ll have to share your heart as well.”

“You’ve had it for six thousand years. May as well let someone else have a piece.”

Sometimes, the enormity of Crowley’s love crashed into him like a vicious wave. He teared up, something that also seemed to be happening with increasing frequency the bigger the baby got. It was in every single book, so it was expected, but neither of them particularly _liked_ it. Aziraphale blinked rapidly to keep them from falling, but Crowley cupped his cheek and leaned in for a kiss that undid him.

Soft and warm, the golden glow of that love spiraled through him until he seemed to be floating. His heart fluttered, but something else did too. He gasped against Crowley’s mouth, the sweet kiss breaking when they both looked down at Aziraphale's belly. 

_Ba-bump, ba-bump_. 

The tears spilled, but Aziraphale couldn't stop smiling. Big and bright and so very in love with his wide-eyed alpha and the tiny creature they'd created together. “Oh, Crowley...”

He made a few wordless noises, an arm tight around him and a hand laid over the source of this new sound. This little Earth angel, first of their kind, had a strong heart. “That-” Crowley had to clear his throat. “That's gonna take some getting used to.”

“Yes, I think so.” Aziraphale laid his cheek on Crowley’s shoulder, his palm over the back of his hand. “There are three of us, darling, on our side.”

“Ngk.”

“Having a moment, dear?” 

“Shut up,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s curls. Vanilla, bergamot, leather, and old books - familiar scents his omega had been created with or had gathered through several millennia of experiences. The new addition to it, this latest experience, didn't have a specific something for him to focus on. It was just _baby_ , and it pulled so strongly at his instincts. Sometimes, he really didn't know how other demons could do what they did - alphas surfacing to work out a rut with whoever they found first, having but never seeing a single step of this process. 

How in Heaven, Hell, or Earth had he gotten lucky enough to have this? An actual bonded mate who was his match in so many ways, a growing life they'd created together - how was this his? What demon got to have _family_? “Angel,” he whispered and brushed away the happy tears. Ridiculous omega. “Aziraphale... Did we do that or did they?”

“My dear, for this, I'll happily say I have no idea. But I'm so very happy regardless. They sound wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Crowley murmured, relieved when the tears seemed to slow. “Any, uh, any other expectations you were worried about?” 

“No, I suppose not. Our little Earth angel has been doing rather well on their own, I think. They're quite mobile.”

“You can feel that?” 

Aziraphale hummed, eyes closing while Crowley gently wiped the teartracks away with a kerchief he pulled from nowhere. “It isn't like the kicking we read about and it isn't constant. But it is a bit like... You know how wings feel against your back? That odd little fluttery feeling when the feathers shift, to be more specific.”

“Yeah. So it's like that?” 

“Mmhm. I feel it most often when I lie down at night, but that's likely because I'm trying to sleep.”

“You say that like you weren't the one who stood up first last night,” Crowley reminded him. 

“Shush. Sleep is good for the baby.”

“You were _tired_.”

Aziraphale didn't quite glare at him, but he opened his eyes to deliver quite the _look_. “My body is growing a baby. It's allowed to be tired.” 

“Right, blame the body.”

“I _will_ blame the body, you complete terror. There’s nothing else to blame.”

Crowley grinned, undoing buttons on his waistcoat. “You usually blame the baby.”

“Well. It’s usually the baby’s fault now, isn’t it? After all, they are in charge.” Aziraphale didn’t smack his hands away just yet. While he wouldn’t say he was used to Crowley undressing him whenever he felt like it, he couldn’t say he disliked it. It helped that he thought he understood why, smile only fond when Crowley laid a hand on his belly again.

_Ba-bump, ba-bump._

“When’d those books say they’d have ears?”

“The second trimester, darling. We’ve got a few more weeks yet.”

“Don’t see why we can’t speed up the process,” he muttered, staring intently at the swell of his stomach. Was it starting to get rounder or was it his imagination? Crowley listened intently to the brand new heartbeat, focusing on the steady rhythm. 

Not so intent that he couldn’t hear Aziraphale’s heavy sigh, though. “We can’t. Or at least we mustn’t. The baby will come in due time. Considering that we waited six thousand years to be able to even Bond, I think we can wait six more months for a new family member. What does that make it? May or June? Gosh!” he realized with a gasp that captured Crowley’s attention.

“Wot?”

“They’re going to have a _birthday_. An angel with a birthday, Crowley. How- how positively human.”

Crowley chuckled, shifting about until his head was nestled in Aziraphale’s lap, ear against his belly and familiar fingers stroking through his hair. “We’ll have to get calendars and mark the occasion somehow.”

“Birthday parties,” Aziraphale mused. “Should they go to school, do you think?”

“What the Heaven would they need to go to school for?”

Aziraphale huffed, some of Crowley’s careful styling getting lost under the gentle pets he bestowed. “Well, not for the education, exactly. But the socialization is very important.”

“You want our kid to make friends. With humans? Angel...”

“Well, why not? We’ve done it. You have, especially.”

“Mngh, yeah, but...” Crowley frowned, but couldn’t look away or he’d lose that heartbeat in his ear. That sign of the little life they’d created. “We always understood they’d die. Y’know. Even Anathema and Newt, Adam and the rest...”

“Yes, and our child will understand that too. You know as well as I do that it’s an important lesson to learn.” Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, linking their fingers. “Even though it hurts and we miss them all. I know you’ve always missed Eve.”

Crowley could avoid looking at him by closing his eyes, so did. Easy enough to block out that hurt. It had dulled, yes. It had been six thousand years since she’d walked the Earth. “Y’know, Hell’s never let it go that she went Up when she passed. The origins of Original Sin both ascended. I was always glad, even though it meant...” He’d never be able to see them Upstairs. Her with all her curiosity and bravery. She’d been the first human to ever turn her gaze up to the constellations Crowley had drawn in the sky and pick out the pictures. It was difficult not to miss the first being who’d made your work worthwhile.

Aziraphale had seen them both since. Not often, no. Unlike Hell, where demonic interaction with lost souls was expected, in Heaven, the angels rarely interacted with those who passed through Peter’s gates. The paperwork was a nightmare, for one. And “because I want to see them” was never an acceptable reason to be approved. Their assignments were on Earth anyway, which made it hard for both of them to visit the human-filled parts of Heaven or Hell.[20] And now, defiant as they’d been in leaving, they would never be able to see anyone again. Their child likely wouldn’t either, angelic or not. It wouldn’t be safe, so they’d have to teach them that. They’d have to teach them so much.

And teaching them to make, have, and lose friends was one of those things. They’d be alone in a way Aziraphale and Crowley had never had to be, so that lesson would have to be learned quickly so they could also learn the grieving process. The other side of hurt, after all, was healing.

“I know, dearest, and they’re happy. They have the garden again, and this time nothing’s forbidden.”

“Yeah? Is the Heavenly Tree of Knowledge on the Heavenly moon?” he joked, one eye opening. 

Even knowing his teasing tone was forced, Aziraphale gave him the smile his joke had sought. “Or on a very tall Heavenly mountain. I’m afraid I neglected to ask.”

“You’ve let me down, angel. How could you.”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid I’m terribly forgetful, my dear. You must forgive me.”

Crowley lifted his hand up to his lips. “S’pose I can. Just this once. But school, really?” He grimaced, both eyes open again as he brushed away the grief and focused on the task at hand. “Can’t we just... There’s other ways for kids to meet one another. They’re just going to teach them maths and science. What if they start believing in dinosaurs?”

“Then we’ll correct the error.”

“So they blab about it in class and turn into a laughingstock?”

Aziraphale gasped, a hand falling to his belly. “They won’t be a laughingstock, Crowley! They’ll tell the truth and other students will thank them for it.”

“No, they won’t. No kid would _ever_ thank the nerdy, supremely Christian-sounding kid.”

“Of course they would. And one day the paleontologists will see reason. They’ll be the ones who are laughingstocks. Not a child of ours, no. Absolutely not.”

Crowley’s brows arched. “Right. Look, we’re not sending the baby to human school. We’ll find out what ways they make friends outside of it. Do you have any idea how many times _I_ had to argue with Warlock’s tutors? It was a nightmare. I’m not doing it ever again.”

Aziraphale hummed, hand leaving his stomach to stroke Crowley’s hair again. “I seem to recall you were often quite cross with them, yes. You’d stalk across the great big yard and rage at the Dowling plants.”

“You’re welcome.”

With an easy giggle, Aziraphale leaned back and shifted a bit so they could both be even more comfortable. He wasn’t yet ready to admit it, but his trousers were starting to feel a smidge pinched about the middle. It wasn’t enough for him to do something about it yet, but it did feel nice to recline ever so slightly. Besides, he told himself, it was better for the baby. “You know, I don’t believe our time with Warlock was a complete waste. He certainly taught us both quite a bit about raising a child. Not from birth, but when they’re able to talk and move about. All we have to do, I think, is be on the same page about things. And not actively attempt to discredit one another.”

He nodded firmly, quite certain his logic was flawless, but he didn’t miss Crowley’s wicked grin. “Easy as pie.”

Aziraphale’s lips pursed. “Pie is hardly easy. Particularly fruit pies. The chances of getting a soggy bottom-”

“Ah, yes, tell me all about soggy bottoms,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale pushed him right to the floor. “Oi! I was listening!”

“Oh, hardly. You were- Oh,” he realized when Crowley’s embarrassed flush came and went nearly too quick to be seen. He folded his hands over his middle, understanding what he was listening to, and smiled anew. “You silly thing. Come along.”

Crowley quickly moved out of Aziraphale’s way as he shifted to stand, watching him stride to the bookshelves to peruse the offerings. “Come along where?”

“I’m not going to sit on the couch sans shirt, but I’ll be happy to lie down in bed if you’d like to continue listening.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek as he went by, undoing his bowtie with one hand. “Of course, sweet.”

“Stop calling me that,” he protested, following immediately. The glass wall which separated his bedroom from his former office darkened when they stepped inside. 

“Stop living up to it,” Aziraphale countered, setting his book on a nightstand to continue disrobing. Until long, deft fingers took over, his mutterings sour but his touch like sugar. “Have I ever told you, Crowley, how glad I am that it was you who was assigned to Earth?”

“Might’ve. You’ve at least hinted at it once or twice.” Crowley trailed his fingers down newly revealed skin, tracing along the faint stretch marks over his curved belly. There’d be more soon enough, more signs of the baby. Each time something new happened, he wanted to bask in it. A changed scent, a new heartbeat - what came next? He couldn’t completely recall, but he’d probably love it.

“It’s a good thing you’ve always been obsessed with my curves, dearest. I think I’d be more put out by all the attention you’ve been paying my stomach as of late.”

“I’m easy to please.” And unashamed of it. “I just need you and all of your warm softness.” A simple miracle tucked Aziraphale’s clothes in an armoire that only appeared when the angel stepped into the Mayfair flat. 

“I believe that comes from you being a snake. You used to sun yourself on the bigger rocks in Eden, if I recall correctly.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s amused look. “Your affection for softness clearly comes from six thousand years of being spoiled by increasingly bigger and softer beds. I have no doubt they were your doing.”

“Tch. If they had been, I would’ve shown a builder a painting of you and asked them to create a piece of furniture to match.”

Smiling, Aziraphale slipped out of everything but his pants and settled himself beneath the blankets at a slight recline. He’d have to find a tailor - oh, he hoped that was still a profession - to let his trousers out sooner rather than later. He had no idea what he was going to do with his favourite waistcoat. It was getting colder, so perhaps a few sweaters wouldn’t be remiss. “Should I take up knitting again?” he abruptly wondered. 

“You hated knitting,” Crowley reminded him, taking the new topic in stride and sliding into bed. His shirt obligingly turned into a cotton t-shirt and his denims disappeared as he pressed close. His attention didn’t immediately shift down to his belly anymore than Aziraphale’s immediately went to the book still on the nightstand. 

Aziraphale folded his hands over his stomach, shaking his head. “I know that, but a few new sweaters would be lovely. And I remember knitted baby booties and caps were, ah, all the rage, as they say. Are they still?”

“I’ve got no idea. You want to make them in your tartan, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I have standards.” Crowley rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could, sliding down until he was comfortably using his mate's lap as a pillow, and said mate tutted at him. “You wily old serpent, no need for such hysterics.”

“Hysssterics?!”

Aziraphale gave him a pointed look, but stroked his hair as he had on the couch. “I’d make a black and red set for you too. They are _ours_ , dearest, and my standards clearly include you or I wouldn’t wear your Mark _or_ be carrying our baby.”

Mollified by this, Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s skin. “Try crocheting instead. Maybe you’ll like it more than knitting.”

“I think I will. Or I’ll try, rather. I can’t know I’ll enjoy it more beforehand.” Aziraphale hummed to himself as he continued to run his fingers through auburn strands. “Do you think it’s possible that the baby may be a little, ah, snakelike?”

Crowley hummed, letting his eyes close under the soft attention. “Dunno. Honestly, angel, I’m not _that_ different from Before. I think, anyway. Pretty sure my limbs and spine didn’t always feel, mngh, wibbly-wobbly and my eyes were different, but... I always liked basking in warm light, never liked the cold... One of the best parts of creating stars was pushing all that heat into the cold.” He moved his hands in a way that was a little like forming a snowball, but let the memory go. Before was always best let go. “Always been curious - might not have Fallen if that wasn’t true - so I dunno if I turned snakelike or if snakes have sort of turned into me. If you’re askin’ if the baby’ll have the occasional problem with scales and fangs and things - no idea.” An eye opened. “Would that be a problem?”

“Of course not. I love you as much with limbs as without them. And I'll love the baby regardless too. You just have such a lovely imagination, dearest. I wanted to know if that was something you'd considered.” Aziraphale cupped his cheek gently. “I wouldn't mind if they had your eyes, for example. They're beautiful.”

“They're not really my eyes, though.”

Aziraphale’s lips curved. “Steal them from someone?” 

Crowley smiled back, but it was weak. And the concern in his angel's scent washed over him in waves. Before the Bond Mark, he might've gotten a hint of this on occasion, a faint whiff of Aziraphale’s worries before he'd tamp them back down. Every strong emotion he breathed in now was designed to encourage his instincts to reach out, to be whatever his omega needed him to be. To keep their Bond strong. 

Soothing, at least with Aziraphale, was second nature. He took his free hand and kissed the palm. It had become a familiar gesture over the centuries, but his cheeks went pink just the same and Crowley’s smile came a little easier. “It's not something I've... ever told anyone. Talking about the Fall's never fun, angel.”

“You don't have to, darling. I was only-” 

“My halo melted.” Cut off, Aziraphale could only blink at him. Crowley laced their fingers and listened to the little heart beat-beat-beating in his ear. “Landed in a pretty massive pile of former angels, right into a pit of boiling sulphur. When I came out, my wings felt like they were on fire - and not in a good way. I never liked the cold, but the sort of heat in the- Not even in the Fall itself. In the _landing_. That was... Well, it's probably what Hellfire might actually feel like to you.”

“Best not to speculate, then.”

“Yeah.” The gentle stroking of his hair resumed, so Crowley unfurled Aziraphale’s free hand to trace the lines of his palm. “Anyway, I pulled myself out, puked until I couldn't, then... Mngh. I looked around. Broken corporations everywhere. Demons just grabbing whatever they could find to seal their wounds and I thought, for a minute, that I'd gotten a bit lucky. I felt... stretched out, but not broken. Not until I looked up. I saw my halo melting, and then... Well, having something that hot in your eyes is pretty damn unlucky.”

Aziraphale shifted a little, jostling Crowley and cupping his cheek again. He stared at his eyes as if he'd never seen them before, his own eyes wide. “Your eyes are-” 

“Yup.”

“But- Crowley, you've never said-” 

“ _Why_ would I ever have cause to tell _anybody_ that I beat the fucking system and held onto my halo by accident? Do you know how fast my eyes would've been stolen? Listen, it hurt worse than anything, I thought for a bit I'd be blind for the rest of existence, but now...” He waved a hand. “I've had these eyes longer than what I had at creation. I like them. You like them.”

“I do,” Aziraphale confirmed, thumb gently circling beneath one of his eyes. They'd gone entirely gold now, no trace of white remaining. He had indeed - what was that expression? - gamed the system. No halos, no white wings - their light was supposed to be burned out to leave them hollow, dark caverns. It's what he'd been told during his training, rushed as it had been in preparation for his descent to Eden. 

Yet even from the first moment, coming across a slithering serpent entirely by chance, Aziraphale had seen a spark. Not in his amber eyes, necessarily, but in his wit and in how expressive he could make a limbless, lidless snake form. The human form that had emerged on the wall for their first proper conversation had seemed just as bright. Why else would he have lifted a wing in protection? It had been more than orders, even then. More than “Guard all things on Earth, Angel of the Eastern Gate.”

No matter what angels, demons, or alphas were _supposed_ to be, Crowley made his own choices. He'd chosen what aspects to keep from each of those _supposed_ tos. Of course he hadn't chosen to hold onto his halo in this manner, but the rebel in him was quite clearly pleased.

“I love your eyes, sweet, and everything else about you.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Even that. I hope,” and refused to expect, no, there were no expectations for how their child would or should be, “that the baby will be as brave and curious as you.”

“For both our sakes, and theirs, I hope they're braver and know when to listen.”

“Ah, knowing when to listen. I have no idea where they'll get that trait.”

Crowley laughed, kissing his belly again. This one was just for Aziraphale. “Nurture instead of nature.”

“Which of my books did you read that one in?” 

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale chuckled, taking his book off the nightstand. “Have a nap, dearest. You should make up for all your wakefulness while you can. We'll still be here when you awake.”

 _We_ , Crowley thought, that steady beat in his ear and his mate close. His scent was softly, sweetly contented and a little amused. It was a completely unsurprising combination. Hum soft, Crowley let himself enjoy the gentle stroking of his hair. The pages of Aziraphale’s book would turn when he wanted them to, which was the highest form of a frivolous miracle. Crowley just loved the little sign of freedom, of their side. It was as important as the heartbeat. He, too, understood why humans called their children miracles. How could this be anything less? 

“I hope they're as clever and as full of love as you,” he murmured, watching Aziraphale smile before he let his eyes close. 

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

19. Nephilims had been around far longer than Aziraphale or Crowley wanted to contemplate, their levels of power as varying as their knowledge of those powers. It usually took quite a bit to unlock, particularly as polytheism had finally died down. Greek and Roman tales of powerful demigods and demigoddesses had a bit more truth than people might want to admit.↩

20. Heaven and Hell, predominantly, are what people make of them. While Heaven would have been an eternity of _Sound of Music_ and _Pomp and Circumstance_ and whatever marching tunes they could come up with for training had they won the war which didn’t happen for angels, it was a very different story for humans. They had what they wanted. They’d earned it. Hell was much the same, but it came with a side of demonic torture that was all dependent upon which circle one ended up in. Oscar Wilde, for example, was in such a spot where his torture had once entirely consisted of one single cup of over-steeped tea when Aziraphale had asked Crowley to take him a message. He’d just added some sugar and it had been drinkable. Nazis and similar evil people like them, though... Well. Some things shouldn’t even be discussed in footnotes.↩


	6. A Fraternisation by Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel will stay on Earth to experience the opening of his bookshop, a bitter argument, his greatest love, and his biggest fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update, sorry! Spent most of my day helping paint my parents' house, as you do.
> 
> No beta this chap, we Fall like Crowley.

**1800, Soho, London**

He hadn’t seen where Crowley had disappeared to after his complaints over the possibility of Michael replacing him on Earth. While he privately agreed with the assessment of them being a, er, a wanker, he could hardly voice that. He couldn’t voice it anymore than he could his adamant wishes to remain on Earth for as long as the planet lasted. He didn’t want a promotion or a _medal_.

He wanted-

Well. Aziraphale sent a guilty look Heavenwards. He wanted a demon, which was inexcusable. At the very least, it was unexplainable. No commendation could possibly be forthcoming for such a transgression as repeatedly bedding a demon. No matter that said demon tried to bring him chocolates and had spent a truly wonderful heat with him and was far sweeter than any demon ought to be. He even _smelled_ good. He’d run across the occasional demon[21] popping up to Earth to do one of their menial temptings and the scent of them always made his nose wrinkle. Rotten, burnt, putrid, sulphuric - it was too much and not at _all_ like Crowley.

Woodsmoke and cider and stardust and-

“Aziraphale, can’t you keep your omega yearning to yourself? It’s embarrassing.”

He straightened, nearly dropping the book he was shelving before he whirled to face the returned Archangels. “Oh! I- Oh.” He looked back and forth between Gabriel and Sandalphon, noticing Gabriel’s new suit but deciding not to comment on it. “My apologies. I suppose... we’re off, then?”

“Sandalphon and I are off,” Gabriel cheerfully announced. “I hate to break it to you, Aziraphale, but you won’t be coming with us. Unfortunately, Earth still needs you.”

The only reason he didn’t smile immediately was because of the utter confusion. “So I’m... not going anywhere?”

“Change of plans. We need you here.” Gabriel looked around. “In your bookshop. Battling evil.”

Sandalphon stepped forward and punched Aziraphale in the arm, the omega flinching at the sudden pain. It was just as confusing as the abrupt revocation of his promotion. He didn’t know what to think of these betas sometimes, the way they so determinedly acted like alphas. “Carry on battling,” Sandalphon said cheerfully, only adding to Aziraphale’s confusion.

“Keep the medal,” Gabriel encouraged.

“But I don’t understand,” he began, though he was already alone. 

It was only a minute or two later that an actual alpha darkened his door. “Hello, Aziraphale. Still here, I see. Archangels come back yet?”

“Crowley,” he greeted, bafflement still in the corners of his smile. “They did, actually. I think I need a drink. Come in? And do lock the door.”

Trying not to be smug, Crowley strolled in with a box of chocolates under his arm and satisfaction glinting behind his dark sunglasses. The door clicked when the lock slid into place and he followed Aziraphale to the back. The little corner store was quaint, tidy and small and still new. Many of the books were bordering on ancient, the scent of old glue and old leather and faint must clashing with the newness of the shelves and fresh paint. At least Aziraphale smelled right, Crowley content enough to focus on him as he sank down onto a brand new sofa and took the glass of scotch that was handed to him a few moments later. He traded it for the chocolate box.

“Oh, thank you. I really was very pleased to see you earlier. Despite, ah, the company.”

“Right.” Crowley lifted a hand, the medal entering it from across the room, and he flipped it over. “Ooh. Devotion to duty. You must be thrilled.”

“Oh, hush. I am _very_ devoted to the Almighty. It was just so... odd.” Aziraphale settled in a seat across from him, the armchair still new. Crowley had accompanied him to several clever furniture builders once it had become clear that he did, in fact, want to _buy_ his bookshop decorations and hire a proper painter to add the name to the front and all that. His bookshop was special. “You know, I think they expected me to be _pleased_ about leaving. Sandalphon said he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to stay on Earth for five minutes.”

“Well, Sandalphon's always been a tosser. Wasn't he, ah, Sodom and Gomorrah?” 

“All the salt, yes.” They both grimaced. Aziraphale quickly waved a hand to brush that aside. “Regardless, you heard them say I was to be replaced. They wanted someone else in _my_ bookshop!” 

Crowley made a face. “Michael, yeah. Just what the world needs. An alpha angel.”

“Yes. Butting heads with an alpha demon. How awful,” he droned.

Crowley tipped his head, not missing the sarcasm. He snipped back with some of his own. “And how wretched for you. Where are you going to find a knot in Heaven?” 

Aziraphale gasped at him, miracling up a pillow to toss at his head. “How very dare you! This is a respectable business, you wily serpent. It was difficult enough to acquire the building and a license as an omega without hearing the same derision from _you_.”

Crowley's smile softened, setting the pillow aside. “I know, angel. So then what? What'd they say when they came back?” 

“That there'd been a change of plans and I was to continue battling evil in my bookshop and to keep the medal.” Aziraphale shook his head, right back to befuddled. “I can't imagine what changed between them leaving and returning from the tailor's on Cork.”

“No idea,” he lied, as smooth as the scotch. “Sounds like typical Heaven, ideas changing without any warning.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Aziraphale scolded. “I, for one, am grateful for this particular change. Who knows when or if I would've been able to come back?” He eyed him, sipping from his own glass. “Besides... where are you going to find a better omega?” 

Nowhere. Crowley smiled to himself, enjoying Aziraphale's smug little look. “I don't have to worry about that if you're staying.”

“No. Whatever changed their minds, I'm very grateful.”[22]

“The world's probably better off with you than Michael, so it's a good thing they did.” Crowley shrugged and nudged the chocolate box closer. “Have one. We'll have to do dinner and celebrate.”

“Oh, I'd _love_ to.”

\----

**1862, St. James’s Park, London**

“Are you pre-rut?” 

Crowley scowled at him, fidgeting with the top of his cane. “I don’t think I have to actually answer that for you to know the answer.”

“That's... incredibly close.”

Yes, it was. He didn't need to say that either. Aziraphale's heat had ended just two weeks before. The closest they'd ever been was a decade apart. This was dangerous for them both. 

“Goodness. Will it be... safe for you to be gone for two months?” 

“No one has a choice in the matter.” 

Aziraphale didn't offer to join him for rut and Crowley didn't ask him to. There could be... consequences for a rut that weren't necessarily there for a heat. It was too big a risk when just _talking_ to one another was a danger. 

Hard to remember that with a sweet omega scent in his nose and only two weeks since he'd left the angel's bed, but Crowley was doing his best. 

“If we sync-” 

“We're not going to. I haven't bitten you,” he snapped. 

Aziraphale drew himself up, turning away from him to crumble bread into his top hat to start feeding the ducks. “If we sync, we'll have to stop this for a while.”

“Mnngh.”

“Don't argue, Crowley. You know it's the right thing to do.”

“I wasn't arguing.” Crowley's glare went unseen behind his lenses. “You can't think everything I do or say or anything is _arguing_ just because I'm about to go into fucking rut.”

Aziraphale’s brows rose. “I think you're arguing because you directly contradicted me.”

“I made a _noise_.”

Throwing another handful of breadcrumbs into the water, Aziraphale sighed heavily. His tartan cravat fluttered a bit. “You smell angry. You always do when this starts.”

Of course he was _angry_. The only thing he wanted kept him at arm's length and had for nearly six thousand years. He was _angry_ that it had to be that way. It was the only way to keep them both safe. 

He didn't realize he was growling until Aziraphale touched his arm. “Dearest, just how close to rut are you?” 

“Tomorrow, but it doesn't matter.” He looked out at the water, grip tighter on his cane. “Look, I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong? We have a lot in common, you and me.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We may have both started off as angels, but _you_ are Fallen.”

His teeth grit. “I didn’t really _Fall_. I just, you know... sauntered vaguely downwards. I need a favour.”

“We already have the agreement, Crowley. Stay out of each other’s way, lend a hand when needed. Not to mention our, ah... Well.”

“This is something else. For if it all goes pear-shaped.”

“I like pears,” Aziraphale protested as if the fruits themselves would overhear and be offended.

Crowley was undeterred. “If it all goes _wrong_. I want insurance.”

“What?” Aziraphale shook out his wool hat and popped it back onto his head, Crowley offered a small slip of paper.

“I wrote it down. Walls have ears. Well, not walls. Trees have ears. Ducks have ears. Do ducks have ears?” he rambled, studying the feathered creatures while Aziraphale unfolded the note. “Must do. That’s how they hear other ducks.”

Aziraphale, heedless of his ramblings, was busy trying to understand the words on the page. Or, rather, he understood them but he didn’t understand _why_. He thought everything had been going just fine between them. Better than fine, if he were being honest. They were together, weren’t they? Not, well, _together_ -together, exactly. But they were...

They were _something_. They were something and he couldn’t do this. “Out of the question.”

Crowley barely glanced at him. “Why not?”

“It would destroy you.” Aziraphale thrust the paper back at him as if it was burning his hand. “I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.”

“That’s not what I want it for,” he hissed. “Just insurance.”

He thrust it back and Aziraphale only took it to keep the back and forth from carrying on. Panic was bubbling up inside him. Not his alpha. He couldn't let his alpha go like that. “I’m not an _idiot_ , Crowley. Do you know what trouble I’d be in if-” He glanced upwards. “If they knew I’d been... fraternising? It’s completely out of the question.”

“Fraternising?”

“Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel.”

“Oh, of course you do.” Aziraphale turned away, ignoring the stab of hurt. Crowley could come find him in a month once his rut was through and they would discuss this rationally.

“I don’t need you,” the alpha snarled.

Aziraphale stiffened. His heart went tight at the words, at the heightened fury in his scent. He wouldn’t let it deter him. He glared back at him. “Well, and the feeling is mutual. Obviously,” he snapped, throwing the scrap of paper into the water.

“‘Obviously,’” Crowley mimicked, unsure which of them made the page burst into flame. The words _Holy Water_ were soon gone, vanished as if they’d never been, but Crowley stayed at the park far longer than he should have in the hopes that Aziraphale might come back. Give him something better to think about during a rut than... than a bitter argument.

When he didn’t, Crowley contemplated taking a nap instead. A nice, _long_ nap.

\----

**1941, London**

A lot could happen in eighty years. It wasn’t even _unusual_ for them to be apart for so long. Or, at least, it hadn’t been since before 1601. Maybe things had changed a bit. Maybe they were more used to seeing one another every fifty, forty, thirty years. Maybe Aziraphale had gotten used to having an alpha around during heat after the previous two. Probably a good thing that he hadn’t been around for the latest one, that interruption-fueled humiliation still stinging, but it had been miserably lonely besides. 

Probably as lonely and miserable as Crowley’s rut. Aziraphale wanted to ask him about it, ask him how he’d been over the last eighty years. Why he hadn’t come to find him. Ask if he knew that Aziraphale hadn’t meant any offense when he’d reduced their relationship to fraternising. He’d been in a panic. It should be excusable. 

He was in an entirely different state now, watching Crowley bounce down the aisle of a church. He’d been betrayed and fooled, annoyed at the idea that he’d be discorporated and that Crowley wouldn’t even _know_. He’d tried so hard to find him amidst all the chaos of the Great War. Or, rather, World War I. It was decidedly disturbing to discover that the war to end all wars had done no such thing. It had, instead, opened up the gates to something just as bad.

Something that dropped bombs over innocent families and children and, it would seem, the occasional Nazi spy.

A miracle covered them, had walls and pillars and flames alike avoiding them. The scent of whatever German explosive had been used couldn’t possibly outmatch the woodsmoke and cider that filled his nose with every inhale. Stardust tickled his senses as he breathed, and he was so very glad that their tiff in 1865 wasn’t the end of them after all. He hadn’t expected it to be. Holy water coming between them? It was almost laughable, really, but Aziraphale couldn’t dredge up the humour in the situation. 

Three more Nazis were in Hell, though, and Crowley looked thoroughly dashing in his suit. So black it was almost blue, his fedora matching quite smartly. A new pair of sunglasses were whisked off and cleaned of ash, giving Aziraphale a glint of gold that nearly made him swoon. How silly. Even if Crowley was still willing to come to his rescue, he was still standing away from him. Nothing about his posture or his scent said he wanted the omega near him. 

Aziraphale’s tone shook a little, but the words between them were light until- “Oh, the books! Ohh, I forgot all the books,” he realized, any sense of standoffishness disappearing in the face of such a terrible realization. His first additions, his _books of prophecy_! His favorites and they were all gone. “Oh, they’ll all be blown to-”

Crowley grunted, ripping a bag out of the deceased Mr. Hozier’s hand. It was only just sticking out of the rubble. Almost as if...

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Crowley said, passing the bag to him. Their fingers brushed and Crowley gave his hand the barest of squeezes before he let go and stepped away. “Lift home?” he offered, long legs picking through the rubble.

Aziraphale’s heart swelled, soaring even as it plummeted. The realization rattling through his mind, gaze locked onto Crowley’s back, was a dangerous one. More dangerous than any friendship, any Arrangement, any shared time in bed together. While in heat, he’d forget himself and their rules. He’d beg for those fangs to sink in and leave their Mark, for the alpha inside him to prove his want to all of Heaven, Hell, and Earth. However, he _never_ wished for such a thing outside of heat.

It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t wise. Their scents would change and it would become obvious to anyone and everyone that the angelic omega had fallen for a demonic alpha. It could very well lead to a capital F, for that matter, and Hell would certainly never allow a mated pair to be _happy_. Oh, no, Crowley had already told him what happened to mates. Separated until the madness took over and they were nothing more than beasts used to train or battle Hellhounds. Oftentimes, both. Sometimes, just food.

And escaping together on Earth? Where could they possibly hide? And how long could they possibly manage it? An eternity? Until Armageddon?

Watching Crowley’s shoe slip on a stone, listening to him curse as he stumbled a little, Aziraphale was horrified by his own eagerness to try doing just that. Throwing caution to the wind and admitting just how much he...

“Come on, angel. Really need to get off my bloody feet if you don’t mind.”

Aziraphale stumbled forward like a marionette, quickly following after the demon with his bag of books clutched in his hands. “You foolish thing,” he accused, tone sharper than intended. “You _ridiculous_ thing, coming into a church like that! Consecrated ground, Crowley, how _dare_ you get yourself hurt on my account? There was no reason-”

The lapels of his camel-coloured coat were grabbed, Aziraphale breaking off on a gasp when he was spun and pressed up against some firm combination of metal and glass. And before he could say another word, his mouth was plundered. It was the only word he could think of for the way Crowley kissed him. For the way he pressed against him, only the bag keeping him from feeling the long press of Crowley’s frame. It didn’t stop tongue and teeth and lips from tearing him apart. Crowley’s lips against his shredded every argument he’d been making over the last eighty years. Every time he’d tell himself that the distance was fine, better for them, necessary, acceptable - had he truly _dared_ to find separation from Crowley acceptable?

Would he ever be able to tolerate it again?

Whimper soft, he started to go pliant and give whatever it was his alpha demanded when the kiss ended. He was ripped away from the metal. “Don’t you ever tell _me_ there’s not a reason to ressscue you,” Crowley hissed, letting go and opening a door. “Get in, angel.”

Dazed, Aziraphale slipped into the passenger seat and held the bag in his lap whilst watching Crowley cross to the driver’s side. It was a cloudy night, but the moon and stars overhead were more than bright enough for a demon to see by. “I... didn’t realize you had a car,” he said, voice thick with things he wanted to say instead. 

“Got it in 1933.”

Aziraphale took a very slow, deep breath. “I didn’t know you were in England in 1933.”

“Long enough to get the car. Decided I wanted one after spending the 1920s in the States.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said quietly, looking out the windscreen since he couldn’t bear to look at Crowley’s stiff profile a moment longer. He didn’t quite know how the vehicle was traveling across roads that were little more than rubble after the years of bombing, but there was one particular corner of Soho that remained unblemished.

Crowley stopped across the street from the bookshop, turning his head. His expression beneath the sunglasses and hat were unreadable, though the tightness of his jaw betrayed quite a bit. Aziraphale wanted to cup it, wanted to stroke his familiar face and memorize it anew. He wanted to pull him across the front seat and taste his lips again. He wanted to tell him that he-

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, leaning over. He was the one to reach out, to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, and he realized why when he felt Crowley’s thumb brush dampness across his skin.

“I’m crying,” he announced and that wrung something that was almost a smile out of the demon. “So sorry. I didn’t realize. I don’t think I’m going to stop.”

Crowley’s hand left his face and he pushed open the door, the car’s engine halting. How odd. It was quieter without the soft rumbling, the sound so much like Crowley’s rough purrs when they were locked together. Aziraphale’s breath hitched. Crying was awful.

The passenger door opened and Aziraphale found him and his books swept up and cradled in thin arms. Crowley didn’t look as if he’d be strong enough for such a thing, but he didn’t even wobble as he crossed the street and mounted the few steps to the bookshop’s front door. It opened for him because it always had and always would. Aziraphale’s breath hitched again. Such a strong, lovely demonic alpha. “Your feet.”

“Shut up. Alcohol?”

“Port?” he suggested. “Something sweet, I think.”

“Right. I’ll see what you’ve got.”

“But your feet-”

“I sssaid shut up.”

Crowley deposited him on the couch and sauntered off to where he remembered Aziraphale’s wine storage was. He hadn’t changed anything, as much for his own comfort as for the hopes that Crowley would return and find him as dependable as ever. Just a fussy omega who’d turned an entire bookshop into a nest.

He wiped the tears away, his silly eyes not listening when he told them to stop misbehaving. He didn’t notice Crowley return until he was scooped up again. The demon dropped onto the couch and held Aziraphale in his lap. “It’s okay,” he murmured, the scent he’d carefully been keeping locked away wafting around the angel, cocooning him as much as his arms. “Let it out.”

His protests didn’t come out, but a sob did. Aziraphale curled himself into Crowley, face tucked into his shoulder, tears dampening his silk blazer. He didn’t know where the jacket had gone, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t have any questions for a few minutes, trapped and sorry as he was. So sorry for upsetting him in 1865, so sorry for not trying harder to find him in the eighty years since, so sorry for not being able to give a voice to the feelings in him. The feeling that had overtaken him when Crowley had given him a miraculously saved bag of books and taken Aziraphale’s heart in return.

He was so sorry that he was an angel and Crowley was a demon and neither wanted to be anything else.

Eventually, the tears seemed to get tired of falling, but Crowley didn’t let him go. A demonic alpha with gentle hands which dabbed Aziraphale’s wet face with a silk handkerchief. A demonic alpha with soft words and even softer grumbling purrs, each designed to soothe. Intent and instinct combining to settle a sorrowful omega.

The sheer gentleness only served to squeeze out a few more tears, but Aziraphale didn’t stop him. It was so sweet, after all, and so like Crowley. “Such a dashing rescue,” he murmured.

“The whole crying thing makes me doubt that.”

“Oh, you silly serpent,” Aziraphale sighed, much softer than he’d sounded at the ruined churchyard. “I’m afraid that isn’t what I was crying about.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, but said nothing more. That, too, was so like Crowley. 

“Will you stay tonight?” 

“Dunno if that’s such a good idea, angel.”

Aziraphale took a few deep breaths. No, it wasn’t a good idea. It had been so long since they’d seen one another, been _together_ , and Aziraphale was still dealing with this brand new emotion. Or was it more of a realization? Regardless, it was a new label and he couldn’t even convince himself to say it. He hadn’t yet thought it, wary of what may come next should he give in. He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He took another deep breath. “Stay anyway.”

Crowley cupped his cheek, tipping his head down to stare at him for a few quiet seconds. “Missed fraternising?”

It was a bitter question, but Aziraphale didn’t close his eyes against it. It was a bit unfair to have the word thrown at him like that when the definition was accurate. They were not supposed to be associating with one another, yet did that and quite a bit more. It _was_ fraternisation.

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley had told him at the beginning that it had to start real or it wouldn’t start at all. Perhaps that demand counted towards it continuing. “Yes, Crowley, I did. I thought you’d find me after your rut so we could discuss things rationally, but you never did. And I don’t particularly wish to discuss it now or at any point, actually, because my answer hasn’t changed. But I do want-” Aziraphale lifted his hand and pressed it to the one that had gone limp against his skin. “I want you to know that I’ve missed you. I want you to stay, my dear, because I’ve missed you and I would hate for you to leave again so suddenly.”

Crowley pulled off his sunglasses. “You missed me.”

“I know we once went centuries without being near one another, but I’m afraid I simply can’t tolerate the distance as I used to. I’m not going to demand that you bed me tonight, dearest, but I’d like you to stay regardless.” He swallowed. “I’d very much like my alpha nearby.”

He sucked in a sharp, hissing breath. “Your...”

It was as close as Aziraphale could get to a confession. For either of them. “Well, I haven’t gone off and found another one, nor do I particularly wish to. Ever.”

Crowley stared at him, seconds ticking along in the quiet. There were air raid sirens and bombs going off in the distance, but it was quiet and safe in the bookshop. It was only the two of them. Aziraphale couldn't fathom what was happening in Crowley's mind, but he didn't object when lips found his. Softer this time, warm and coaxing even though Aziraphale didn't need to be coaxed. 

He smiled when Crowley laid him back and was thrilled when he stayed. 

\----

**1967 Soho, London**

Soho was not what it had been in the early 1800s. Oh, it was still quite lively and rather busy, but it was... different. There was still a tailor nearby, but the fellow - Julian, Aziraphale believed - didn't exactly cater to angels. He was something of a scoundrel, but that seemed fitting in Soho. There were multiple scoundrels around now and quite a few establishments of ill repute.

Aziraphale minded them. Of course he did. It was all quite sinful, so of course he did his part in encouraging those he came across to make good choices. But the interest in books and, specifically, in his bookshop had plummeted to an all-new low. That wasn't _so_ terrible. 

The bell over his door chimed cheerfully and he rose, tugged at his jacket to straighten it. An all-time low didn't exactly mean he got _no_ customers, but they were generally the confused variety and very easily shooed away. 

As he made his way to the front, he was pleasantly surprised to see young Mr. Shadwell. Aziraphale clasped his hands together behind his back and offered a smile. No books would be bought, then. Wonderful. “Hello, there. What brings you in, Lance Corporal Shadwell?” His voice lowered, gaze casting about as if anyone else was near. “More, ah, secrets to share?” 

“Actually, Mr. Fell, I think I've got quite a lead. Straight from Julian, mind, but I thought I'd come and... tell you first.”

“Of course! Come back now. I have some tea, if you'd like. Biscuits?” 

“I wouldnae say no.”

Aziraphale beamed and bustled him into the back, steering him away from Crowley's favorite sofa. The young man was only a beta - posturing aside - so it wouldn't necessarily offend the demon, but it _would_ offend Aziraphale to find anyone else on that particular piece of furniture.

He sat Shadwell on a chair he was considering donating somewhere and bustled about making tea. Shadwell rarely drank his, but it was the thought that counted. A little tray of biscuits was set on the coffee table and Aziraphale sat in his seat, expectant and smiling. “Well?” 

Shadwell picked up a biscuit, snapped it in half. “There's to be a church robbery.”

The smile slipped away. “I'm sorry?” 

Shadwell nodded eagerly, hair flouncing. “Aye, Mr. Fell. Heard it straight from Julian, the tailor down the road. Some mysterious bloke in sunglasses. Julian's built up a few teams for him in the past, but he only needed three people and I'm to be one of them.”

Robbing a church. Aziraphale suddenly felt adrift, his own tea untouched. Crowley had been fascinated in 1941, seeing a fontful of holy water right out in the open. They hadn't discussed his request since their argument in 1865, but it was obviously still on Crowley’s mind. Insurance, he'd called it, in case things went wrong. As if Aziraphale wasn't doing everything in his power to keep things from going wrong.

“Mr. Fell?” 

Aziraphale rose, reaching into his pocket for a wad of cash. He had no idea how much it was, but Shadwell’s eyes widened. “So sorry to rush you out, dear boy. Robbing a church. Fascinating information. Worth every pound, as usual. Make sure to share this with the rest of your squadron.”

He very cheerfully, enthusiastically ushered Shadwell right back out his door, slamming it behind him and flicking the closed sign before hurrying back to his seat. It didn't necessarily _have_ to be Crowley, did it? Other people wore sunglasses. 

He reached for his phone and dialed. Best to suss out every lead, wasn't it? 

But after a four sentence conversation with Julian,[23] he had his information and it wasn't what he wanted to know. Crowley was going to rob a church, had a meeting at the unusual pub just across from the bookshop, and Aziraphale had a choice to make. 

A thermos bearing his tartan appeared on his desk almost immediately.

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

21. Of course, Aziraphale didn’t smite these demons anymore than he did Crowley. He did, however, discorporate them and then let Crowley know. He didn’t know what Crowley did with the information, but he did know he’d never seen the same demon twice.↩

22. As smooth a liar as Crowley could be, Aziraphale wasn't a fool. Crowley wasn't nearly relieved enough to have not done _something_.↩

23. His four sentences being: “Hello, dear fellow. Have you heard from Anthony recently? I see. Have a lovely day.”↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


	7. Avocado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's waistcoat doesn't fit, but his halo still shines. Then humanity provides some inspiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be held responsible for any toothaches or other sweet-derived responses.

More and more things seemed to be _weird_ about his corporation. Around the fourteenth week, for example, he'd started to get an uncomfortably stuffed nose. He'd never had to tolerate such an offensive thing before and, as his breathing also supplied the baby, he hadn't been able to turn off the need for a nose. Learning how disgusting blowing one's nose could be, however, just meant miracling his clear from then on. 

At least most of the queasiness had passed. Occasionally, his stomach still upturned but it wasn't with the alarming frequency of the previous weeks. He'd even started to be actively hungry again, rather than eating just because the baby needed fuel to grow. Nothing had tasted good, going down and especially not coming back up, and it had been miserable for him. Not that he'd fully explained that to Crowley. The absolute darling was normally the one pushing food at him, reminding him to eat for once in their existence. Aziraphale hadn't wanted to tell him nothing was appetizing. 

The biggest change to his body, though, was the bump. He laid his hands on it, frowning first at his reflection in the floor length mirror in his bedroom and then down at his waistcoat. Only half the buttons would fasten. He wanted the layers, though. They had Christmas plans at Tracy and Shadwell’s new home and none of the humans had seen him in less than his best. 

It bothered him more than it should've. The rational part of him knew that. The hormonal part of him pushed tears into his eyes. It was just fine to wear jumpers and soft cardigans at home, but his _favourite waistcoat_ should be worn out. He could always miracle it to fit, of course, but he'd had it tailored more than a century ago and he didn't want to alter that lovely human's work. It seemed terribly rude. Nevermind that said human was long dead. 

Long arms were suddenly around him, drawing him back. “What is it? I could smell you from downstairs, angel.”

“Oh- Oh, I didn't mean to be so...” His hands fluttered before settling on Crowley's arm, plucking at his sleeve. “Potent, I suppose, in my sorrow.”

“Well, you were. So what's wrong?” Crowley kissed his neck when he didn't reply right away. His collar was still undone, bowtie hanging limp, trousers unhooked, waistcoat only half-buttoned - that, more than the sorrow, told him everything he really needed to know. Still, “Angel, tell me.”

“You’ll _snicker_ at me the way you always do when it’s regarding my clothes.”

“I don’t _always_ snicker at you, angel. Sometimes I just... smirk.”

Aziraphale turned his head, able to slant him quite the _look_. “That hardly helps your case.”

Crowley smiled, hands sliding down along the obvious addition to his usual curves and down to his trousers. Aziraphale felt the gentle wave of a demonic miracle as he buttoned and zipped them. He couldn't be too upset about it, though. He wasn't _quite_ as attached to the trousers. They'd been modified once already to add the zip, after all. A handy addition, really. His waistcoat, though... 

He started to protest when Crowley touched the buttons, but realized rather quickly that he was undoing them. “Crowley?” 

“I never get to play dress up with you. You should let me.”

“‘Play dress up?’” he echoed, trying to sound haughty instead of miserable. It was a ridiculous notion. He wasn’t a doll. Nor was he an infant or tiny child who would rather flit about in the nude. Even in the early days, he hadn’t been comfortable with nudity. Fascinated, yes, by the humans who were. And at least the public baths of ancient civilizations had been mildly sanitary. He’d gone to one or two in his time, but they’d always been miraculously empty.[24]

Though Crowley, he recalled, had been very comfortable with public nudity. Always fashionable and, at times, trendsetting. The latter of which often to the point of scandal. That had likely been the point, he thought to himself, belatedly realising his favorite braces were being attached to his trousers. They were in his preferred tartan pattern and straight from 1953. Crowley buttoned them on with deft fingers, tightened them appropriately, and Aziraphale noted in the mirror that they framed the new swell of his belly in a very sweet way.

“Oh,” he sighed, so much of the misery fleeing with the sound. He could trade his waistcoat for something that showed off the baby. And braces were certainly something which made him feel appropriately dressed up. He gave a little wiggle, hands resting comfortably on the bump. “Oh, _Crowley_.”

“I always liked you in braces,” he admitted. He’d liked him in quite a bit over the millennia. He rather missed Roman togas on rainy days, when Aziraphale would forget he could keep himself dry and the white fabric clung indecently to skin to show off every curve. 

Aziraphale positively beamed at Crowley’s reflection, adoring the smile he got in return. “I thought you hated these ones.” He watched Crowley’s eyes roll with some amusement, but his head tipped back obediently when those long fingers lifted up to his throat. He did up the buttons neatly, then tied Aziraphale’s bowtie in a practiced way that surprised the angel. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“Someone’s sake, angel, that’s like asking where I learned to knot a proper tie.”

“This _is_ a proper tie.” And it wasn’t as if Crowley wore actual ties very often either. Not now that they weren’t in fashion for everyday wear. He’d stopped somewhere in the sixties and had never once worn a bowtie, he recalled, leaning back just to feel those familiar arms wrap around him once again. To look at the picture they made: that dark auburn hair a contrast to his platinum blond curls, the slender line of his arms wrapped around a middle that had been plump long before the baby. He kept his light hidden, and Aziraphale let his shine.

What a pair they made and how curious Aziraphale was, how eager, to see all the ways their traits would combine and reveal themselves in their little Earth angel.

“In any case, I’ll need my jacket.”

“It’s on the coat rack downstairs. With your coat,” Crowley added, anticipating him. 

It was nice to be so well known. It was nice to be so well loved. Aziraphale turned away from the mirror, pleased when that turn didn’t take him out of Crowley’s arms. He smiled up at him, charmed as he always was by Crowley’s seemingly constant desire to hold him. That was far older than the baby as well, something they’d both ignored for millennia. Until this part of their relationship had begun, as Crowley had insisted, _real_ in the seventeenth century, and it was never going to stop. They’d had their side far too long to stop now.

“You know, when you suggested playing dress up, I thought you’d be a bit more... ridiculous.”

“Your braces are tartan. That’s _plenty_ of ridiculous.” His thoughts drifted back to Rome, though, and he wondered if he could get Aziraphale back in that old toga. Or, well, in a copy. He wasn’t actually sure how far Aziraphale’s wardrobe actually went back. He’d never seen a need to go through his armoire, even the braces currently buttoned to his trousers brought to his hand with a thought, but curiosity beckoned now. He’d never been one to resist curiosity. “Will you let me later? When we get back to whoever's place we're staying at tonight.”

Aziraphale smiled at the eager light in golden eyes. Whatever he had in mind was likely to be quite a bit of fun, if only he gave into it. He had no doubts that his eagerness had some wicked intent behind it. He was a demon, after all.

Aziraphale’s demon.

He heaved a rather put-upon sigh which he and Crowley both knew was utter bollocks.[25] “I suppose I’ll have to allow it. The braces were a very clever solution.” He gave him a light, fond peck on the cheek before wiggling out of his mate’s arms. He didn’t make it to the door before he was caught and pulled close, giggling into the greedy kiss he was swept into.

\----

They were late to the little cottage in Tadfield. The older humans hadn’t initially planned on moving to the quaint village, but whilst helping the delightful Madame Tracy and rather wretched Sergeant Shadwell pack[26] Aziraphale had assured her that a cottage had miraculously just gone up for rent as the owners had decided to move back to Wales, as they’d been waffling over for nearly a year. If they preferred, the cottage could go for sale and here’s their number, my dear lady. Do call at your earliest convenience.

It had meant immediately unpacking their things, but it was hardly an issue for an angel and a demon who sighed gustily as soon as he’d found out what Aziraphale had done. 

“Come _on_ ,” he’d protested. “Shadwell didn’t even want to move to Devil’s Dyke. It would’ve been hilarious.”[27]

“Devil’s Dyke?” Aziraphale’s brow had risen. “I can’t say I blame him for not wanting to move to such a poorly named spot.”

“It’s only poorly named ‘cause it’s gorgeous. You ever been? Great for summer walks.”

Aziraphale had straightened his back primly. “It’s _October_.”

Of course now that it was December and they were settled just a stone’s throw away from Jasmine Cottage, Aziraphale was feeling rather delighted. The town was full to bursting with Christmas cheer a week away from the holiday, and the whole thing settled around him in as cosy a way as his sensible coat and long, tartan-patterned scarf. The scarf had been an unexpected pleasure, wrapped around his throat before they’d left the bookshop and the puzzled look he’d sent Crowley had been met with a grin that nearly hid his embarrassment. “Just playing dress up.”

His stupid, sweet alpha. He waited for him to open the passenger door of the Bentley, parked where it ought not to be, of course. It blocked two different parkways, the utter devil, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite muster the scolding he deserved. It was too lovely an evening, stars winking above them as night fell and the nip in the air tossed colour into his cheeks. And in Crowley’s. And in the tips of Crowley’s ears as the darling fool refused to wear earmuffs. He’d given Aziraphale a scarf, but of course he didn’t have one. His warmth was all infernal, though it tended to drain rather quickly in the colder months. 

Silly serpent couldn’t quite avoid all the pitfalls associated with his more animalistic characteristics. Besides his eyes, he was cold-blooded in whatever form he took. He soaked up the sun and heat like a battery, often fueled on that alone for energy. In the colder months, if he didn’t remember to push some Hellish heat through his veins he’d nod right off. Aziraphale took his hand, wool mitten to leather glove, and pulled him to the door.

It opened before they reached the steps, Tracy’s blonde hair curled neatly about her pretty face. Her green eyeshadow was too like her, the little red glittering gems at the corners of her dramatic winged eyeliner practically expected. She radiated enough fond cheer that Aziraphale wiggled. While the date was incredibly inaccurate for what they were celebrating, all the goodwill never failed to fill the angel with warmth and delight. This season, a Bonding Mark under his bowtie and a baby in his womb, was no different in that regard. He might have been even _more_ chipper, frankly.

When he wasn’t beside himself in tears, of course, but he wasn’t going to think of hormonal challenges at a Christmas party. Or a holiday party, as Anathema had no qualms in telling them she preferred to celebrate Yule. She and Crowley promptly began discussing the number of holidays Christmas overwhelmed and the people who were, therefore, ignored.

Aziraphale decided to ignore them in turn, taking the bottle of wine he’d insisted they bring to the kitchen after Tracy. “Thank you, luv. I’ve got some caffeine-free teas for you and some hot cocoa, if you’d like.”

There were some small perks to having been in her body, however brief. They’d learned quite a bit about one another in that short time, some information needing to be transferred for simplicity’s sake. He’d given her baseline details about his food and drink preferences and she’d told him why he shouldn’t be too cross with Shadwell. Somewhat of an uneven exchange on the surface, but they’d understood the significance. It was certainly coming in handy now. “I would love cocoa, Madame. Thank you very much.”

“Of course, Mr. Aziraphale.” She nodded towards his belly. “Baby giving you any trouble?”

“Not with sweets. And not as of late. I do believe I’m starting to enjoy food again.” He stood at the counter with her, miracling up a small ice bucket when she didn’t immediately provide one for the wine. It was a lovely little merlot Crowley enjoyed and he’d prefer if it didn’t get served warm. Dreadful, even without him being able to have a glass. Not at all worth the risk, in his opinion. He was doing very little to affect his corporation so the baby could grow as naturally as could be, his stuffy nose and the occasional joint pain aside. The baby was being quite greedy with all the nutrients in his corporation for a being who made him regularly sick and unhappy with food. Crowley’s influence, surely. No matter that the books said it was normal.

“That’s wonderful, luv.” She took down a mug for him, her cabinet filled with mismatched china. He found it charming and adored the little whatever-they-were-called dotting the mug she added cocoa powder to. Crowley would know what the pink and purple flowers were called. “Do you know, I told Mr. S I could _feel_ you driving up and he didn’t believe me.” She smiled, eyes dancing in that wicked way that often reminded Aziraphale of his mate. It could’ve been an alpha thing, but he suspected it was more of a kindred spirit sort of thing. “But I did, you know. You’re nearly glowing, and I’m not even a very good witch.”

“Oh, it’s the holiday season. People are just so giving and kind this time of year.” And Heaven rarely bothered him. Christmas was a triumph, one of the very few things he’d gotten a commendation for whilst having absolutely nothing to do with it at all. He hadn’t even been in communication with the Pope who had assigned Christ’s birthday to the holiday which had once been Saturnalia. Polytheism to monotheism - it had apparently been quite the battle of wills.

Aziraphale wouldn’t know, really. He’d been in Greece, arguing with Crowley over Libanius. He’d lost that one, he recalled, distracted by a surprisingly praise-filled note over the good he’d been doing with bringing a new wave of Christianity to the polytheistic sinners of Rome. He’d had to go and see it for himself. After he and Crowley had gotten drinks together so he could say farewell properly and cede Libanius, of course. They’d been having a lovely time together.

He shook his head, tuning back into Tracy when he realized she was gazing at him with patient fondness. It was another thing which reminded him very much of Crowley. Perhaps that was why he liked her so. “So sorry. I find myself getting lost in thought even more than normal as of late.”

“That’ll be the pregnancy brain, luv. Does all sorts of things to you. Like make you glow, since I’m sure it’s not all the holiday’s doing.”

He wiggled happily, taking the steaming mug she offered with a bright smile. “No, I suppose it isn’t. I am an angel, though. Glowing is part of that.”

“Oh, Mr. Aziraphale.” She patted his cheek. “We know it’s the love, don't we?” 

Aziraphale took a sip of his cocoa, the drink a suitable temperature as expected, and his smile was nearly blinding. It was a wonderful thing to know, to feel freely without fear of judgement. No scorn, no Fall, no arguments with his supposed betters. He could love and did, so much so that it had been one of the very first things Tracy had picked up about him when they'd been locked together. 

“I suppose we do.”

And it was so very easy to love, to spend an evening in the company of four humans who knew what they were and were at ease with it. A novel experience to be sure, but with an added benefit of no one reaching out to touch his belly like they had a right to his personal space. He very much did not appreciate the utter gall of strangers who liked to come up and touch his belly, especially not when they were also trying to be customers at the bookshop. It was infuriating enough to get the occasional “Should an omega really be running their own business?” without the additional touching and judgemental, “I can’t believe your alpha lets you keep this up.”

His alpha _respected_ him and, when around, he was very happy to inform them of that with a flex of that alpha pride and a proper demonic growl. The rare moments where he wasn’t, Aziraphale knew how to deal with them. But there was a certain thrill in his mate being able to protect him out in the open. He didn’t need any protection that night, though Newt did manage to make him tear up when he’d first arrived. “Oh, you’re showing off the baby bump. That’s cute.”

If there was a subtle ring of light shining over his head by the end of the night, well, what could any of them expect?

He managed to put his halo away again before they left, though Crowley taking his hand nearly ruined the effort. The glowing was most definitely love. Tracy had been right on the money in regards to that, hadn’t she? 

“You’re going to blind someone if you keep this up, angel.”

“You, I daresay.”

Crowley tapped the side of his sunglasses, and Aziraphale followed him down the short lane with a giggle. If the entire neighborhood received an extra blessing that season - some extra cash found in an old sweater drawer, a sale on just the right gift, a general lifting of moods and goodwill - he could hardly be blamed for something so natural. 

Not that anyone was in the business of blaming him for things, no. Not anymore. Crowley opened the passenger door of the Bentley for him, Aziraphale unable to resist brushing their lips together before sliding into his seat. He watched Crowley cross to the driver’s side, watching him slide behind the wheel, watched him turn the key. “You’re staring at me, Aziraphale.”

“You stare at me all the time.”

“Prove it.”

It was a petulant response that made Aziraphale laugh and reach for Crowley’s hand. “My dearest, I highly doubt I’ll ever need to do any such thing. You’ll prove it for me so long as I wait a little while. You’re more obvious in those sunglasses of yours than you realize.”

“Can’t stare at you while I’m driving,” he muttered, lifting Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. It made him laugh again, wiggling happily in his seat. 

“No, you _shouldn’t_ stare at me whilst driving. _Can’t_ is irrelevant and _don’t_ would just be a lie.”

Nonplussed, Crowley pressed the accelerator down and the car pushed forward. Snow was beginning to fall, thick fat flakes that glittered with all the colours of the Christmas lights they passed. For all their shining brightness, they couldn't hope to capture Aziraphale's attention quite like his grumbling demon. “Well, whatever. Why are you staring at me?”

“Because I can. Because no one can tell me I can’t. Because I love you.”

Crowley paused, gazing over at him. For once, Aziraphale didn’t scold him over not looking at the road. The Bentley, clever car that it was, would get them home if Crowley was distracted. “Angel...”

“I love you,” he said again, softer this time. “I’ve spent far too long hiding that love in the dark, keeping it from you when you rightfully deserved to know.”

“Baby making you emotional?” Crowley asked, his own voice thicker than he’d ever admit to.

“Oh, each and every day. It’s quite exhausting.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, the two of them still holding on to one another. “But I think it’s more being in the presence of so much love and fondness, right out in the open. Their relationships don’t make perfect sense from the outside, yet they fit together very well. Even Sergeant Shadwell’s more jagged edges have been smoothed somewhat, and Tracy’s wild oats have found a home. Anathema seems more grounded and Newt more spontaneous. And yet they are still very much themselves.”

A slender brow arched over his dark sunglasses. “We've seen plenty of humans in love, Aziraphale.”

“That hardly diminishes the impact. It's charming and... Well, at one time I would've called it enviable.” Aziraphale smiled when Crowley leaned back in his seat, one hand barely on the wheel and foot light on the accelerator even though the Bentley continued along at its normal speed. “I've wanted to be seen loving you nearly as long as there have been people around to look.”

“Angel...”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand, to soothe, to reassure. A gentle pressure, an anchor to their now. “Sometimes, you'll take my hand or I'll want to take yours, and I have to remind myself that it's alright. That I have your Mark and you have mine. I can glow for loving you and no one's going to come punish me for it.”

“Thought that was for the holiday,” Crowley managed, desperate to seek out and provide an out to heavier conversation. 

“Oh, dearest...” Aziraphale smiled fondly, knowing what he wanted and ignoring it. “It's for you. It's for a demon who knows me well enough to pick my favourite braces rather than adjusting my waistcoat. It's for an alpha who limits himself to one glass of wine when he could've easily had the entire bottle and sobered up before leaving.”

“Mnng. If you wanted miracles all over your waistcoat, you would've fixed the worn spots by now. And the wine was just- You can't drink, so it's not as fun.”

“Darling, you've been drinking alone since humans first discovered alcohol. And they managed that before they came up with a single written language.”

A few wordless sounds worked their way out of Crowley’s throat, Aziraphale’s smile not fading. “It's still not as fun,” he eventually muttered. “I like doing things with you.”

“You always have.” Crowley frowned at that, but Aziraphale didn't wait for him to form a reply this time. “I adore doing things with you too, dearest, and I always have. Which is why I was wondering, perhaps... If you'd like...”

“If I’d like... what?”

Aziraphale hummed a little nervously, gaze turning away from Crowley to watch the world through the windscreen. The Bentley slowed a bit for him, so he reached out and patted the dashboard fondly. It was going to keep their child as safe as could be, he knew it. 

“Aziraphale? You can’t just start this chat and then drop it like that. What’s wrong?”

“Well, nothing’s _wrong_.” Aziraphale huffed, rubbing his stomach idly. “It’s a very big question. Perhaps I should have begun this when we were home.”

Crowley’s hand slipped away so he could take control of the Bentley anew and pull over to the side. Parked, he twisted to look at Aziraphale fully and arched his brows. “Ask.”

“You’re really too curious for your own good sometimes,” Aziraphale murmured, but folded his hands over the subtle baby bump. “Could you... Your sunglasses.” 

He whisked them off and tossed them to the dashboard, and Aziraphale sighed. It was nice to see the whole of him, even knowing what he did about the gold of them now. They were as beautiful as they’d ever been, like the honey Aziraphale would occasionally stir into his tea or spread over scones. He cherished them as much as he did the vulnerability in showing them off. He’d never been good at hiding his emotions, the sunglasses used to hide the serpentine nature of them as much as his feelings, and Aziraphale loved to be trusted enough to see both. 

“Your flat only has one bedroom.”

Crowley blinked at him slowly. “So does yours at the bookshop.”

“Precisely!” Though Aziraphale understood that Crowley had no idea what that had to do with anything as he continued to blankly stare at him, patient and unblinking. Aziraphale’s hands nervously readjusted their fold. “Neither flat has enough space.”

Crowley’s gaze fell to Aziraphale’s hands, the bump beneath it, and extended his senses to hear that steady little heartbeat. His mate’s was less steady. “Then we just...” He lifted his hand, mimed a snap, and Aziraphale quickly shook his head.

“That’s not what I want. I don’t want...” He’d gotten better at saying what he wanted or didn’t over the course of their relationship, first with the Arrangement, then with their secret romantic relationship, and now with their very not-secret romantic relationship. But this was still a rather large step and not something they’d spoken of. But after being around humans who had so happily settled together, it was a difficult concept to ignore.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Newt has moved into Jasmine Cottage with Anathema and Tracy and Shadwell have moved in together. They... Well, when I mentioned that we still went back and forth, I got the distinct impression that it was a, ah, surprise.”

“We’re not going to do everything they do,” Crowley pointed out. “We’re not human.”

“No, we’re not. And we never shall be.”

He continued to fidget, wringing his hands together, and knew the moment Crowley understood. It lit in his eyes, brows lifting. Surprise and- Oh, and pleasure. He could smell it with his next inhale, his own lips curving hopefully. “Hang on. You want to move in together, angel?”

“I very much do,” he admitted softly. “And not into either of the flats we have now. Heaven and Hell know where those places are, and I don’t want... Well, if they _do_ come bother us, I don’t want to make it entirely simple for them. We do have the baby to consider, you understand, so I want something new, Crowley.”

He reached out, laying a hand over Aziraphale’s fidgeting fingers. “You want something that’s ours.”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Angel,” he began, that low rumble of amusement coating the word, “do you really think I picked out a flat less than five minutes away from the bookshop because I wanted to live far from you? I miracled the view instead of just living closer to Parliament.”

“I had noticed that,” he murmured, smiling when Crowley lifted one of his hands to his lips. “I just thought you were being, ah, what is the word? Extra?”

“Who the fuck taught you that?”[28] Crowley demanded, making Aziraphale giggle and wiggle happily in his seat.

He ignored the question, though. “You really want to move in together?”

“Yesss. We’ll have to find a place or just miracle one.”

“No, no. I want- I’d like to find somewhere that has character. And- and history!” Excitement lit blue eyes, his free hand waving. “Somewhere in the countryside. We’ll get a proper estate agent and everything, I think. Buy our home like humans do.”

“Tracy and Shadwell didn’t exactly buy their home like humans do.”

“Darling, all I did was speed along something which was already going to happen.” Ever the angel, Aziraphale lifted his chin. He’d do whatever was needed to ensure their family had just what they deserved. “If I have to do the same for our home, I shall.”

“Our home,” Crowley echoed softly.

Aziraphale beamed. “Our home,” he agreed.

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

24. Perhaps he had performed the, ah, occasional frivolous miracle here and there. Hardly his fault. Corporation upkeep was very important.↩

25. Aziraphale would rather think of it as “well-done acting.”↩

26. By which he means whilst sharing a cuppa after one single snap per flat had packed up the odd couple’s belongings.↩

27. They had each decided, in their own ways, to never speak of the fact that they had believed Shadwell actually had an army behind him. Aziraphale’s excuse was that the man was clearly down on his luck and needed some angelic assistance. Crowley’s excuse was that the sod’s constant lying was just the sort of thing a demon should support. After six thousand years of making excuses to everyone and anyone, they each knew better than to believe the other yet had no intention of calling the other out lest their own foolishness be outed.↩

28. Anathema.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you've just got to let soft ineffable husbands be soft.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [Syl-Writes-Stuff](https://syl-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


	8. Ineffable Tutors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock's tutors are definitely more interested in one another than in actually educating an Antichrist.

**_2008 - Soho, London_ **

“Well, I'll be damned.”

“It's not that bad once you get used to it.”

Aziraphale’s smiled dropped instantly and Crowley threw his head back and laughed. It was a good sound to hear, considering how much tension they'd been dealing with. Not even a full twenty-four hours since he'd met with Hastur and Ligur and... delivered the Antichrist. 

Aziraphale shook his head and rose to flip the record over, taking satisfaction in the simple task. He liked dropping the needle and hearing the music begin. You couldn't get that out of modern music players. 

“Should we start now?” 

“I might have to. We'll see. Harriet Dowling's either going to be the type of mother who wants to coddle him or she's going to be strictly hands-off. I'll have to spend some time at the Estate to find out, but I'll keep you updated.” His voice grew louder as he spoke, scent stronger, so Aziraphale wasn't surprised to find himself pulled back against him. “Any sign of your...?”

“Not since 1929, dearest. It could come at any time.” A keen edge of worry coated Crowley’s scent, and Aziraphale let his own soothing one waft around him. It had been a very difficult twenty-four hours for them both, his alpha especially. Aziraphale knew very well how much Crowley hadn't wanted to take the Antichrist to the convent, but he wasn't the sort to kill a child and, well, Hell would've found out if he'd deviated from the plans. There hadn't been a choice. 

Aziraphale sighed, relaxing against Crowley. “If heat does come, you don't have to spend it with me. I made it through the last one, even with... the interruption.”

In the years since 1941, Crowley had learned all about the interruption. His heat had arrived, coincidentally, just as the American stock market had crashed. They had plummeted into a massive economic depression. Famine, Crowley recalled, had enjoyed himself immensely as food became unaffordable and scarcer still thanks to poor farming practices in the plains. They'd dried their soil out, and low rainfall had coalesced to create wretched dust storms. 

But that stock market crash had been the catalyst for a decade-long disaster, and Gabriel had ended up in the bookshop. Not in the same room, no. Even a high and mighty beta knew better than to enter an omega nest mid-heat, but that hadn't stopped him from berating Aziraphale through the door for not being better than his instincts, overcoming heat and popping over to the States to fix things. It just wasn't possible, and humiliation had never been one of Aziraphale's kinks. 

It was probably better that Crowley _hadn't_ been there. He would've been helpless but to defend him, alpha instincts just as uncontrollable at times. And it was better that Aziraphale hadn't been near the stock exchange. Crowley hadn't been the only demon involved. He'd slept through America's Temperance Movement, had completely missed every memo and order to put a stop to it, and so the 1920s had been nothing but work and more work to ensure the punishing Depression would happen as planned. 

Still, Crowley shook his head. He hadn't missed his last heat by choice and he wouldn't miss something that could potentially be their last one together. “I'll spend it with you. We're going to be around one another for a while. It'd be more suspicious if I _didn't_.”

“Willing to wager on that?” Aziraphale asked, laying his hands on Crowley’s arms. 

He chuckled, nuzzling into his neck and teasingly nipping above his collar. “Course.”

Aziraphale hummed, lifted Crowley’s hands up to the top button of his waistcoat. It had been a stressful day for his alpha, and he was both angel and omega. He was more than willing to give them both something better to focus on. “I can't recall if you're worth having around for a heat,” he teased lightly. “Perhaps a refresher is in order.”

Crowley grinned. “Bed?” 

“I do believe that would be best.”

\----

The first five months of Warlock Dowling's life were spent under the care of his mother. Harriet loved being a mom. She loved carrying her baby around, loved feeding him, loved buying him things he’d never remember, loved spoiling him. 

Crowley thought it a bit sad, really, that the beta had nothing else to push all her love onto. Her husband was rarely around, though, even as the political climate in the States took a turn. He, too, was a beta as that was part of Hell's selection. Two human betas versus him, a demonic alpha. Of course he'd be followed over them. It was another reason to have Aziraphale around. He'd provide a welcome balance.

Of course, that was before he saw the outfit. 

Harriet, as much as she wanted to continue raising her son without a nanny, was pressured into it by her husband and those in her social circle who also had children. She put out an ad for both a nanny and a gardener position, and Aziraphale had quickly snatched up gardening. Fair enough. Crowley did look killer in a skirt. 

So Nanny Ashtoreth sauntered up in her sensible heels and rang the bell of the house she'd spent five months slithering around. A sharp, Scottish alpha with a smile as sharp as her smart suit. Harriet had hired her immediately. 

Though Crowley did wonder what on Earth - or rather in Heaven - had possessed her to hire on Brother Francis. Mutton chops that reminded her of the Victorian era, a frock that reminded her of a bloody monk, and ridiculous teeth. 

“Oh, good, they're fake,” she sighed, watching him pop the things out.

He glared over his shoulder, not surprised that she'd invaded his little cottage by the greenhouse. “Of course they're fake. I'm not going to live with them full time and I'm certainly not going to waste miracles on them every day.”

“You could've shown up looking _normal_ instead. Gardener's today wear denims.”

Aziraphale lifted his bushy brows. “I'm not wearing _denims_. Honestly, what do you take me for?” Crowley took off her sunglasses so he could see her eyes roll. He harrumphed. “So what's your name in all this, my dear?” 

“Ashtoreth. And it's not _all this_. This is a fashionable outfit. Well, as fashionable as a proper nanny should be.” She tugged at her suit jacket and turned, knowing full well his gaze was on her. “You're the one who's as out of time as ever.”

“Mm. Well, it's certainly... form-fitting.”

“Accentuating, angel. Though if you’re curious about my form...”

It was a little more dangerous to come together like this, the two of them so close to the Antichrist. But neither Upstairs nor Down were paying them any mind so long as they continued to report on the boy’s progress. It was very clear that they were relishing having a firm deadline for war and preparations were occurring on both sides in earnest.

Aziraphale and Crowley were not relishing the deadline, but there was something incredible about living on the same property, knowing they would be for the next eleven years. Aziraphale decided to take it as a gift, happy to spend as much time as possible with his alpha and hope, in the back of his mind, that the Almighty might spare the world after all. She’d worked so hard on it. Surely, She wouldn’t want it to end so soon as all this?

He spent six years spending his nights with a demon, amazed that not every night involved sex. There was plenty of that, yes, as the want had certainly not faded over the centuries, but it no longer felt like stolen time. They could just _be_. Crowley could tell him how difficult it was to feed a fussy baby, a teething baby, a picky toddler, a picky _spoiled_ toddler. She liked to complain about Harriet’s smothering nature, golden eyes rolling over every injustice.

“Dunno how the Heaven you’re supposed to have an impact when he’s getting handed everything he wants,” she’d mutter.

“Don’t you have faith in me, my dear?”

“That’s a trick question, angel.”

It hadn’t been, but that was alright. It was always alright. They’d make it through this, though there was a bit of a pause when Warlock entered primary school. They’d arranged everything so that Nanny Ashtoreth would have access to the boy in the mornings and at bedtime to sing him properly evil lullabies and tell him to crush all things under his heel without mercy. From lunch to dinner, Brother Francis would keep him outside in the fresh air and teach him about God’s beautiful creations, great and small, and encourage him to lift all things up to the light and always have mercy.

School disrupted everything, and new arrangements had to be made.

Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis quit on the same day. Quite coincidentally, it was the same day Harriet had been tempted into putting an ad out for two tutors.[29] A boy as special as her precious Warlock deserved proper tutelage outside of the classroom, after all. It gave the angel and demon three blessed days off, though, and Aziraphale was quite tempted to open the bookshop for one of them.

Of course, he didn’t. It was too nice to sink into his favourite armchair and lean back with one of his favourite novels and a record on. Crowley spent his first free day in the Bentley, speeding across most of England and half of Scotland before calling the bookshop. “Oi, tartan.” 

Aziraphale blinked, rubbing a hand over his own jaw and wondering if, perhaps, he needed to make a grand adjustment. He rarely did much to his appearance, but he was rarely in the company of the same humans for so long. “Yes? What about it?” 

“It's got sort of a teacher vibe, yes?” 

It was a rather unprecedented question. Extremely unlike Crowley to ask _him_ about clothes. His camel-coloured coat was older than any human currently alive, after all, and Crowley miracled himself new clothes at least once a decade. Sometimes even twice, if styles changed so drastically. “My dear, are you asking me for fashion advice?” 

Crowley scoffed. “The exact opposite. Tutors don't know the first thing about fashion. Figured you’d be the right person to ask.”

Ah. That explained it, then, but it did make Aziraphale scowl. He wasn’t around to see it, after all. “Educators do know about fashion. Well... Some of them, and it’s rather rude to put them all in the same category.”

“Right. Are you planning on wearing tartan?” He had been, but pursed his lips and stayed quiet until Crowley chuckled. “Thought so. I doubt we’ll match since I’m going with black, but at least I’ll look like a proper, unfashionable tutor.”

“I’ll have you know that tartan is quite stylish,” Aziraphale snipped.[30]

“Right.” The laughter was clear in his tone, leaving Aziraphale decidedly nonplussed. “I’ll see you in a couple days, angel. In all your beige and tartan.”

Aziraphale looked down at himself. There was quite a bit of beige and his tartan bowtie was tied neatly, but there was a touch of blue in his outfit as well. There had been since the Seventeenth Century, in fact, and he didn’t appreciate his preferences being so roughly dismissed. He didn’t have to keep up with Crowley or the constant evolution of human trends to be comfortable. And that far outweighed being “fashionable.” Not everyone could pull off Crowley’s tight trousers, after all.[31] But perhaps he could attempt something a bit different. There were only five years left, after all, and he’d never done a few things to his corporation. It seemed like a wonderful opportunity to try. 

They’d see who was stylish or not.

\----

Harriet Dowling made him uncomfortable. He probably should’ve expected it, as he’d been confided in several times as Nanny Ashtoreth that she was, ah, _lonely_. Her husband spent far more time out of the country than in it, after all, and a pretty young woman had needs. Crowley could’ve tempted her into nearly anyone’s bed and it wouldn’t have taken much more than a limp gesture and a, “Why not him?”

Being an object of her desire was a lot less entertaining. Maybe the beard was too much. It was short, the auburn scruff designed to sit neatly on his angular jaw and detract from any similarities Mr. Harrison might share with the retired Nanny Ashtoreth.[32] But she kept staring at it or his legs, neatly encased in black tartan trousers. Just as he’d told Aziraphale. The pattern was checked, the lines a dark gray. His waistcoat and jacket were the same pattern, but his shirt was the rich bloodred he preferred. Like the scales of his belly on those occasions wherein he felt like being limbless. He felt like that now, positive she wouldn't be as casual about the way she tried to slide his black tie through her fingers if he was suddenly covered in scales and hissing at her.

He took a careful step back, wondering if erasing his Effort would detract from his scent enough to keep the beta away from him, and offered a thin smile. He'd hide behind Aziraphale when he finally bloody arrived. His undoubtedly odd appearance would be a welcome distraction. “Mrs. Dowling-” 

“Harriet, please.”

He'd rather not. His thin smile shrank, but he didn't respond. A knock at the door distracted her and she sent a pointed look at her butler. Crowley wanted to follow him, but Harriet turned and smiled. It was a charming, innocent smile. She looked very much like a proper politician's wife. 

She smelled like a very improper politician's wife. 

He couldn't step back again, but the door of the study opened soon enough. “Mr. Cortese, Mrs. Dowling.”

Cortese, was it? Leave it to the angel to name himself after a grape used in wine. How incredibly, ridiculously like...

His brain seemed to halt. Thoughts stilled, as abrupt as a car crash. He could almost hear squealing tyres between his ears. Six thousand years and the most Aziraphale had ever done to his hair was fluff it out occasionally or grow mutton chops. He'd _never_ done anything to his face, that jawline smooth and unblemished. Not even really using miracles on it so much as simply expecting his jaw to remain untouched by facial hair. 

He'd expected something very different for Mr. Cortese, and Crowley could hardly breathe. He knew he was staring, jaw slack, eyes wide. Behind his sunglasses, they were likely pure gold. They weren't the problem, though. It was his scent and he knew it. Worse, Aziraphale knew it. He slanted Crowley a look with his bright blue eyes twinkling away, and it tangled him up in messy knots. 

It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t like what he saw on a normal basis. Six thousand years of the same angel hadn’t dulled Crowley’s interest in him at all. He adored the tartan bowtie, was charmed by the fact that Aziraphale had fashioned his very own pattern for it. He loved the comfortably worn waistcoat, the familiar camel-coloured coat. His fingers knew exactly how to tangle in those platinum curls. That lack of change wasn’t a problem for Crowley in any way, no. If anything, it was a comfort. Everything else in the world could go to pot, but Aziraphale would be a constant.

Mr. Cortese was something else entirely. Mr. Cortese was a poorly rendered _facsimile_ of his omega. Same eyes, same platinum colour to his hair, same rounded form just demanding to be held and protected and cherished. But the tartan was gone. The bowtie was gone. Still beige, of course, but the shade was reminiscent of ancient parchment. Was burnt beige a thing?

Then a red - he had red on him, he was wearing something with red - and gold-striped tie dipped into an equally golden waistcoat, his usual pocketwatch clipped to it, same brogues as normal. The things which were familiar were far more jarring, though, tucked alongside a _new_ suit. The jacket was snug across broad shoulders, the trousers smartly pleated - where was the comfortably rumpled nature of his ancient clothes?

Maybe he’d put it in his hair, his curls in the sort of disarray that reminded Crowley of how they looked at the end of every shared heat. The _beard_ , though... That was new. Like a cloud. Or like shaving cream a barber had forgotten to wash away. It didn’t hide the impish curve of his lips. Lips Crowley very badly wanted to attach his own to at the very first opportunity. 

“-son? Mr. Harrison?”

Crowley’s gaze ripped itself away from Aziraphale, mouth dry. “Hm?”

Harriet finally looked more annoyed than lustful, which was fine. He probably reeked of want, even to a beta’s nose, and he certainly hadn’t smelled that way before the omega had strolled in. “I was wondering if you wanted to see the study? And your rooms.”

Their _rooms_. Right. Yes. Having multiple was a waste of time because there was absolutely no way in Heaven, Hell, or Earth that he wouldn’t be spending every single night in a bed with Aziraphale. Not being warned that his steady, sturdy, stable angel was going to take a turn at wild had clearly driven him spare in the space of... however many seconds it had been since he’d first stepped in. “Sure.”

Crowley barely paid attention to a word, very used to being in this home after six years, but Aziraphale nodded and smiled and _flirted_ with Harriet Dowling more than enough to make up for Crowley’s grunted responses. Apparently Mr. Cortese was the flirtatious sort. Crowley tried not to let that annoy him, but his fangs had lengthened by the time they made their way into the study. Two suitcases had been deposited in their rooms because there wasn’t a doubt that they would be hired. It had been arranged the day after Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis had quit.

“And where is young Warlock?” Mr. Cortese wondered, smile charming.

Harriet’s hand fluttered, laying on Aziraphale’s arm long enough that Crowley nearly growled. “He’s at a friend’s house today. I thought it would be better to give you both a day or two to settle in before you meet him.”

They both knew, from the years they’d already spent in the house, that meant Warlock had objected strongly to having tutors and was going to have to be coerced. Thankfully, one angel and one demon were each quite adept at encouraging and tempting humans into doing what they wanted. They also had enough experience with Warlock that they were comfortable wrangling in someone who wasn’t quite human.

Mr. Cortese nodded, patting Harriet’s hand as if it was allowed to be on his arm. Crowley did growl at that, the low rumble hidden underneath a cheerful, “That sounds wonderful! We’ll be able to come up with complementary lesson plans for the dear boy in the meantime.”

“You know, I would be really happy to help you get-” There was a snap, almost too quiet to be heard, and Harriet’s gaze glazed over just so. “I should go check the kitchens. Make sure dinner’s coming along. We’ll see you both at six?”

“Hm...” Mr. Cortese checked his pocketwatch and Crowley imagined hurling it out a window. “We wouldn’t miss it. Would we, ah, Mr. Harrison?”

“No,” he ground out, trying not to bare his teeth.

“Great. See you then!” Harriet didn’t touch either of them on her way out because Crowley didn’t want her to, and thought nothing of the door locking behind her.

Aziraphale tipped his head. “Well, that was extremely rude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you having fun throwing yourself at her?”

He tutted. “My dear boy, I believe she was throwing herself at me.”

“Probably because you look exactly like one of those American lumberjack blokes. A cleaned up version in a suit and tie. Bet she thinks you could toss her around in bed and give her the sort of mind-melting fuck her absent husband wishes he could manage.”

Crowley didn’t quite know where that stream of angry words had come from, but Aziraphale seemed to take them in stride. He lifted his bearded chin. “My outfit is respectable.”

“You look like sexy Santa.”

“That's _obscene_.”

“It’sss accurate,” Crowley hissed, taking a step closer. 

To his credit, Aziraphale didn’t back away. He kept his stubborn chin lifted, gaze unreadable even when Crowley shot a hand out and cupped said chin. He wanted to whimper at the feel of those soft curls against his palm, but bit it back. He’d touched this face a thousand times. More than, surely. He knew it as well as he knew his own, but he didn’t know this. It frazzled him, made him dizzy and wanting and furious that anyone else would look at him when he was like this, when he was different and trying something new. Crowley wanted to bundle him up and hide this newness in bed until he was used to it. And then keep him there a little longer.

“What is thisss?”

“Facial hair, my dear. I see you’re sporting some yourself.”

For the first time, Crowley inhaled Aziraphale’s desire and choked on a groan. Hiding his scent. Bloody omega. He latched onto Aziraphale’s tie and used it to tug him closer, swallowing his gasp when their lips collided. The texture was different, the new scruff on his own face brushing against the fluff on Aziraphale’s. The idea of kissing a stranger was off-putting, but his omega’s scent was strong now that Aziraphale wasn’t smothering it. It and that familiar taste on his busy tongue knocked aside any foolish ideas that any changes meant this wasn’t his angel. He was going to enjoy them, and he was going to make sure Aziraphale knew he enjoyed them too.

He backed him up, one hand tangling in the wild curls atop his head and the other undoing the single button on his jacket. He wanted to touch the soft new waistcoat, fingers exploring to find the back of it was satin. Of course. Still soft and comfortable material, that little sign of his usual angel grounding even when they bumped into the desk. Sturdy, solid cherrywood.

Crowley broke the kiss to grin at him before hauling Aziraphale up and pushing him onto a surface that decided it should clear itself off. Papers, a few obscure keepsakes, and a full desktop computer disappeared, replaced by an angel’s back.

“ _Crowley_.”

“What?”

“We are in the-” He gasped, arching off the desk when Crowley’s palm pressed against his groin, working over his clothed cock. “The- the study. In the middle of the day.”

It wasn’t exactly a protest, his scent drenched with desire and that sweet slick. His body was already opening, and it was clear he was just as interested in this as the alpha. He slipped off his sunglasses, hooking them in the breast pocket of his jacket. “Yesss. We are. And I’m going to have you on this desk in this study in the middle of the day unless you tell me no.”

Aziraphale arched a brow, shifting to get a bit more comfortable. “Darling, I’m not an idiot.” Though he was startled by the vanishing of his trousers and pants, chilled air suddenly on his skin. “ _Crowley_! Those are _new_!” 

“They're on the chair,” Crowley assured him, leaning over him to press long lines into soft curves. Aziraphale’s hands were found, pinned to the desk on either side of his head as Crowley kissed him. Aziraphale melted under the heat of it, legs banding around Crowley’s waist to accept the possessiveness he’d inspired. A little demonic miracle had a clamp forming right out of the desk itself, to clamp around one wrist and free one of Crowley’s hands to slide down. He rucked up Aziraphale’s shirt, fingers rubbing over his belly in a greedy search for skin.

Aziraphale’s gasp broke the kiss as that wicked hand slid lower, skipping over his cock entirely to find his opening. Wet and dripping already, though Aziraphale’s arousal had been mounting and kept tightly under wraps since he’d walked into the manor. He’d expected tartan after their phone call, but he hadn’t expected to be cut off at the knees. Crowley in a well-cut suit had always been a particular weakness of his, one he knew the alpha had exploited more than once, but he’d never once seen him in a well-tailored suit with facial hair and he hadn’t seen him with short hair like this since the fifties. It was the last time he’d seen him in a proper suit. 

And while fifty years was hardly much for the two of them, his body seemed to have other opinions. Any ideas of being fashionable out of sheer pettiness had gone right out of Aziraphale’s head. He could hardly fathom having to spend the next five years working alongside him like this, but the _excitement_ overran any sensible worries.

The way clever fingers sank into him overran any thought at all beyond _yes, good, have me_. His cuffed wrist jerked, an eager whine escaped. He wanted to touch, touch, _touch_ , but his other hand was being gripped by his alpha and Aziraphale didn’t want to bother struggling out of that grasp. He knew he could, had during their first shared heat when he’d _needed_ and Crowley had been moving too slowly. He wriggled his hips to encourage him instead, mouth trailing down his throat and nose brushing against the dark auburn covering his jaw. He shuddered at the scrape of it, loved the way Crowley shivered above him in turn. 

“If I’d known a bit of a beard would get you so... _affected_ -”

“Shut it,” he groused, wrist twisting in a way that made Aziraphale’s head fall back against the desk and his hands strain against the bindings - both metal and skin. “That’s it, angel, look at you. My lovely omega.” It had been years since Crowley’s body had this configuration and he’d forgotten how heavy his own cock could be when it wasn’t retractable. Heavy and aching, Aziraphale’s scent driving him spare. The ease with which he took two, three fingers. Crowley spread them, twisted his wrist, felt a thrill of heady satisfaction when his angelic omega cried out and undulated beneath him.

“Crowley- Crowley, please, darling, please-!”

Another clamp formed around the other wrist and Crowley slid his damp hand free. While his belt was unbuckled, he lifted his hand to press his fingers into Aziraphale’s mouth. It never failed to make him groan when Aziraphale parted his lips so readily to be filled, to suck his own slick with the sort of moan usually reserved for the finest of delicacies. His palm brushed over the soft curls of his beard and he wondered what it might feel like to have the base of his cock against it, how those pretty lips would look around him now. 

Soon, he promised himself, watching Aziraphale’s eyes go half-lidded. His omega had quite the oral fixation, after all, and he never shy about sampling Crowley. His tongue, warm and wet, flitted over the pads of each of Crowley’s fingers, swept down to his knuckles. A moan spilled around the digits when he spread them. Oh, yes, he’d have his cock down that throat eventually, but for now... Crowley’s zip slid down, his Effort bobbing free of the confines of his trousers.

His hands grasped Aziraphale’s waist, dragging him down the desk until only the legs wrapped around his waist and the wrists clamped to the surface were the only things keeping Aziraphale up. He whined, the breathy sound making Crowley growl and push his own hips forward. He sank in, welcomed easily, and didn’t let either of them get used to it. Clutching thick thighs, Crowley worked his hips with a steady, single-mindedness that had Aziraphale’s head tossing side to side, eyes squeezed shut, and throat pushing out guttural moans, helpless whines, wordless groans. Crowley’s name fell, again and again, his hands straining against the manacles and his hips unable to move the way he wanted them to. He could only clench his fists and take what he was given.

There was a thrill in being taken, in being used, in being pleasured by a growling alpha. That tint of jealousy hadn’t faded from his scent, the possessiveness intoxicating. It was likely very wrong to use Harriet to tease his alpha, but he’d do it again for this. Being taken with sunlight streaming into the room, the freedom in it a wicked sort of trick. Something that said they were allowed to have this, to do this, to be together when they weren’t. There was no freedom for them, only stolen moments.

“My hands,” he gasped. “Let me- I need to touch you, Crowley, please.”

The shackles vanished immediately, and Crowley pushed him further up the desk. Though he stayed buried deep, they adjusted so Aziraphale could wrap his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. “Better?”

Aziraphale moaned into his ear when his hips rocked, fingers clenching in his suit jacket. Neither of their sides would like this, but he hadn’t Fallen. It couldn’t be wrong if he was still whole. He just wished- “Yes. Yes, please move.”

His next moan was lost against Crowley’s lips, those sinuous hips resuming their brutal, claiming pace. His fingers dug sharper into Aziraphale’s thighs and he willed those nails to leave marks. He wanted the reminders.

Until one hand left a thigh to wrap around his cock, stealing Aziraphale’s thoughts away with every firm stroke. Aziraphale tugged short red hair in turn, swallowing Crowley’s groan as the kiss turned sloppy. “Harder,” he panted, head falling back when Crowley obliged, baring his throat for feverish kisses and too-tempting grazes of sharp teeth.

He tipped him, pushed his thighs higher, growled “mine” as his fingers squeezed, and Aziraphale’s release took him entirely by surprise. He shouted as he came, soiling his new waistcoat and clenching rhythmically around Crowley’s cock, hips frantic as his rim began to catch against the swell of his knot. An eager sound spilling between them, Aziraphale dropped a hand to the desk to push his hips up and took it. Crowley dropped his brow to the top of his head, rutting against him, into him, staying deep as his knot swelled and his release spilled. 

His, yes, there was nothing else Aziraphale wanted to be. Fingers tangled in short red hair, he opened his mouth to beg for his teeth. Properly. No grazing, no nipping - a true bite. A Mark to lock them together forever. He begged for it during his heats and knew he did, just as he knew how hard it was for Crowley to refuse him. How difficult would it be for him now? When they couldn't blame the instinctive need to be thoroughly claimed? When it was actually putting a voice to something he _wanted_? 

Something they _both_ wanted. Aziraphale wasn't foolish enough to think of this as one sided. But he couldn't put that in the air. Crowley had been a wonderful alpha, working as hard as Aziraphale to keep them safe over the years. Overcoming instinctive pleas was very different from overcoming one just then, locked together and still mostly clothed in the disguises that would keep them in this place together for the next five years. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, hands gentling their grip and lips softly brushing Crowley’s throat. “I thought you said tartan was unfashionable, darling, and yet...”

Crowley grunted into his hair, then his head lifted to let a hand delve into thick, messy curls. “I can make anything fashionable, I s'pose. And what the hell are _you_ wearing? You haven't gotten a new suit since 1952 and you haven't worn it once.”

“I'm saving it for a special occasion. My usual coat and trousers still work wonderfully.”

“Obviously not wonderfully enough.”

Aziraphale huffed against his neck. “I didn't think they suited Mr. Cortese.”

“Ahh. But I do?” 

Aziraphale leaned back, bracing himself against the desk on his forearms and gazing up at his alpha. Five more years to prevent Armageddon. Perhaps after... Perhaps after, they could come up with something. If they were careful. “Well... Mr. Harrison does.”

Crowley grinned. “Isn't he lucky?” 

“Isn't he just?” Aziraphale reached up and took hold of his black tie to drag him down for a kiss.

* * *

* * *

### Footnotes

29. Tutors had been Aziraphale’s idea. The temptation had been Crowley’s doing.↩

30. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and it probably wouldn't be the last.↩

31. Not that Aziraphale minded, ah, pulling them off.↩

32. Simple demonic influence would do the same, but there was something fun in playing with her and everyone else on the estate.↩

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [Naniiebim](https://naniiebimworks.tumblr.com/post/619482041077104641/drew-this-kinda-as-a-alt-azicrow-then-realized) and [Whiteley](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/628324756035452928/stickers) greatly inspired their looks, obviously. We need more tutors content, so have my humble offering! I don't think there's a/b/o tutors content out there yet, lol.
> 
> I may need to take next week off just to get caught up, but then I'll be back <3


End file.
